War Stories
by AmbulanceRobots
Summary: War stories: a term thrown around fire houses to describe the stories told by personnel of their work experiences. Runs the gamut from funny to frustrating to absolutely wet-blanket downers. This will be my dumping ground for all things Fire & Rescue, so I will probably add more tags later. Chapters not posted in chronological order of events.
1. Chapter 1 - Ryker

When the Transportation Management Safety Team sent Ryker out to a small, rural airport deep in corn country, he expected something… different than this. He did not take it any less seriously than if he had been dispatched to LAX; all US airports, and patrons of such airstrips, were entitled to the same protection and safety standards as the largest of major hubs. But rural tended to be a bit more routine. He hated that word, but it was true. Smaller planes, without the upkeep insurance of the massive carriers, tended to have accidents more often. Easily handleable, especially without the slow procession through the paperwork of the resident municipality, their law enforcement, and emergency operations. Nothing he hadn't handled hundreds of times before. And then he had come to this place.

Seventeen years with the TMST had taught him that all kinds of nonsense passed for people's common sense, but really, put out a building fire with an entire water tower?

Correction for clarity: _with_ the water tower. Tilted the whole thing over onto the fire. Since, clearly, pumping water out of the tank was too easy.

He inspected the scene as he waited for the airstrip's (Propwash Junction, his aide supplied) fire suppression team. Damage to one of the building's supports. A spiky, charred semi-circle that implied a small explosion, unconfirmed until he could locate any melted shrapnel that had been swept away with the wall of water from the tower they had _toppled onto the building_!

He coughed quietly to correct his thoughts. Anger for something such as this was irrational. Confusion was not. And confusion could happen in a collected and polite manner.

As he let his eyes wander over the rest of his scene (old ratty fire hose, toppled propeller blade from the building's architecture, burn area, skid marks leading from the airstrip to the scene) his attention was diverted by the sound of someone's squeaky suspension and old air brakes. He turned, assessed the person before him (correction: still approximately eighty feet away. Reluctant to speak with him. Not unusual), before making a full about face to give him his complete attention.

Ryker set his jaw against a sigh, and allowed himself a moment of pity. The old fire engine had clearly been around since far before his conception, and his aged hide wore the marks and scars of his noble profession proudly. But he was outdated, saddeningly so, and the hoses he carried in his bed had long since passed their regulation retirement age. As had his nozzles, old pump and tiny water tank, and just about the entirety of his being. The freshly painted likeness of the town's new racing prodigy on the side of the now scrapped water tower was a clear sign to Ryker that, good intentions aside, the old firefighter was out of his league. If a small, one-prop plane had done this, imagine a Leerjet full of racing dignitaries. Ryker's mind supplied him with the couple dozen possible violations that could result.

He gently buried his feelings, they could be inspected again privately, and schooled his face to an unreadable sternness. He rolled just close enough to the old rig to ensure his attention. Practice had taught him how to maneuver his bulk to great affect, not quite enough to bully, but it tended to prevent disagreeable things like arguments. It did not, however, appear that this would be a problem this time. Good, then this would not take long.

"Mr. Mayday, I am Ryker of the Transportation Management Safety Team, and I am here to confer with you about the incident involving a fire adjacent to the airstrip at Propwash Junction."

* * *

AN:

Just so you guys know, I literally squealed during the movie when I saw Ryker. The airport crash investigator is an ARFF? Hell yes. I need more of that in my life. I don't care what for, he needs to show up in Cars/Planes 3. He's the Ultra Magnus of that world.

*happy flaily wiggly dance*

Also, there is currently not a character tag for him. I must fix this.


	2. Chapter 2 - Dynamite, Pinecone, & Dipper

It was quiet at the Piston Peak Fire Attack base. At least, what the residents would consider quiet. The post-dinner lull included the usual sounds, Maru hacking away at something in the shop, the rhythmic thud of Windlifter hoisting logs, and the entirely normal screaming and yelling of Avalanche, Blackout, and Drip doing whatever sort of activity came to mind. This evening's game seemed to be "Steal Cabbie's Stuff and Hide It Until Either Blade Finds Out or Cabbie Just Runs Us All Over." The new SEAT was inside his hangar, either from shyness or self-preservation, no one could tell. The hell if anyone knew where Blade was.

The main hangar was playing host to a much more quiet sort of activity, mainly three friends playing poker around the table. The group usually included a fourth, but Patch had tapped out earlier in the evening. Tonight they played for a combination of Maru's stash of high-grade (the really good stuff, Chrysler knew where he got it from) and their chores.

"Aha! Queens over nines! Read it and weep!" Dynamite claimed her prize from the table, and tossed two of her folded chore sheets back to the center. Dipper and Pinecone did a combination of moaning and sighing, their luck having well and truly turned. Dynamite herself was much more pleased; she had started this evening with a lot less hooch and a ton more of her friends' chores than she would have liked, but she had finally been able to get rid of latrine duty, and she was determined not to pick that one up again this evening.

"You sure you ain't cheatin'? You've been drawin' an awful lot of queens in the past few minutes." Pinecone did not want latrine duty back. Just done that yesterday, thanks.

"You jinxed it when you said she'd lose the next five hands. She's been winning ever since," Dipper mumbled from behind her cards.

"Don't be jelly. You two had your turn at winning all the time. Your turn to cut the deck, Dipper."

"Yeah, yeah."

"You still pinin' over there? Thought we'd moved passed that into havin' some fun." Pinecone dealt the next hand once Dipper passed her the deck.

"I am not pining! But he's cute when he sleeps. His ailerons twitch a lot."

Dynamite leveled a look in Dipper's direction.

"That's creepy, girl. You know how creepy that is, right?"

"I'm just watching! Through the window, even! Its not like I'm in there, touching his face-"

"Do you even understand how that sounds?"

"She'll understand when she gets served with his restrainin' order…" Pinecone grinned. Dipper just stuck her tongue out at them both.

"We're all adults, lets at least pretend to act like it." Dynamite studied her cards. Awesome, again. She loved karma.

"Yes'm, hard sometimes though, up here on our own for a season." Pinecone studied her hand. Well, at least it was better than her last one.

"Trust me, we all know." Dynamite threw her a knowing look. Outside, there was a sudden flurry of yelling. Avalanche's voice carried across the whole base, which was normal, but the husky shout that followed wasn't. Dynamite sorely hoped they took it easy on Cabbie. Not for his sake, oh no, but for theirs. The old warplane was still brawny as hell and tough as nails, and his monstrous wings could flatten any of those three jokers without any effort. Last thing she needed was to replace a jumper.

"See? Totally not my fault if I go a little crazy." Dipper added a can to the pool.

"Nope. Still your fault. You don't see Pinecone or I trying to jump the struts of the first guy who flies in here."

"Its not 'the first guy,'" Dipper said this in such a terrible imitation of Dynamite's voice that it caused Pinecone to choke down her drink, " its Dusty Crophopper! Never thought I'd meet a racing legend in real life!"

"You're star struck, then. Just keep it tightened down around Blade. You know his rules about team fraternizing." Dynamite added three cans and three chore lists to the pool. Bring this on!

"You mean 'don't get caught and it's all okay'?"

Dynamite rolled her eyes.

"You say that like it's easy. Old guy has terrific hearing and eyesight so good it scares me. I wouldn't even think about it. Even the concept being considered somewhere at base probably causes some disturbance in the Force that only Blade can feel."

Pinecone leaned forward, dropped her voice an octave and put on her best suspicious scowl.

"Shh! My repressed emotions are tingling!"

Dipper flat-out laughed, and Dynamite could not suppress a wide grin.

"I think you mispronounced 'common sense.' That kind of stuff does lead to drama that we don't need."

"It don't stop the imagination though," Pinecone said, nodding towards Dipper, who was once again not quite all in the here and now. She snapped to at the quiet snickers.

"What? Oh, you guys are such party poopers! Our love will be real."

"Not the way you smother him. You have a better chance with Windlifter."

Dipper gave Dynamite such a look that Pinecone thought one of them might just explode.

"Windlifter? No way. He's so quiet, and I only understand about two-thirds of anything he does say."

"Then you understand more than most people. Besides, you know what they say about the quiet ones…"

"Let's not and say we did."

"Now who's no fun?"

Outside, they could hear Blackout yelp, Avalanche scream some more, and Cabbie's increasingly frustrated growl. No sign of Drip. There was a low, unintelligible rumble, which meant that someone had managed to involve Windlifter in the game to some capacity. This was followed almost immediately by the loudening deep purr of Cabbie's massive engines starting, which probably meant that Windlifter was giving him ideas. Which was bad. Dipper gave Dynamite a worried look.

"Should we go save them?"

"Nope."

Pinecone looked thoughtful.

"If it's true what they say about the quiet ones, then what does that make Cap'n?"

"Off limits." Dynamite winced, taking a deep drink. "I would rather make-out with a running chainsaw than make even the vaguest semblance of a pass in Blade's most general of directions. Maybe when I'm finally ready to die."

Dipper nodded fervently.

"No kidding. The Scowl of Disapproval? Makes Alaskan winters feel like a vacation in the Bahamas. Brrr!"

"Point taken. Remember that time with the pine tree? I thought a blizzard was blowin' through. Just Blade, though, frowning at me." Pinecone sighed and leaned back. "Which is a darn shame, all things considered."

"Ya think? Considering the way he looks, even now? Thirty years ago that man was so deep in girls they could kiss his rotors, I'd bet my next three paychecks."

"I wonder what happened to make him such a lurker."

Dynamite snorted a laugh.

"He does not lurk."

Dipper peered back over her cards.

"He lurks on the cliff at night."

"That's brooding, not lurking. Brooding is for people who have dark, painful pasts and leads to a life of dry sarcasm."

"You have to admit its hard not to laugh at some of those deadpan jokes though."

"I'll be the first one to admit it. I've had to hold my breath just to save face."

It had become eerily quiet outside, they noticed. No yelling, no one's engines, nobody screaming for help. Dynamite wondered if Cabbie had just offed her whole crew and had Windlifter help him hide the bodies.

Pinecone broke the silence first.

"Y'all realize we just had an entire conversation about how attractive our boss is, right? Never thought I'd have the manifolds to say any of that out loud." She looked at her can of high-grade. "Chrysler, this stuff must be good."

Dynamite just let out a sound reminiscent of both a laugh and a sigh.

"Yes, yes we did. And I still have this terrible feeling that it is going to come back and bite us so hard in the—"

The hangar door opened then, and the aforementioned air boss stalked quietly inside. That sure explained the sudden quiet outside; nothing broke up a fight like the captain's chilly brand of chastising. He looked around for something, clearly didn't find it, and snorted in irritation.

"Blackout hasn't been in here, has he?"

"No, sir. Not since dinner."

Blade stopped, and looked Dynamite square in the face. The Smokejumper lieutenant was a hard worker and an incredibly capable officer, but over the years the word "sir" had worked it's way out of her vocabulary, save the most tense situations where rote conditioning took over.

"Is something the matter?" Rhetorical question. Something was up.

"Not at all."

"No, sir."

"Mm-mm."

Silence.

Blade's eyes narrowed slightly, and he took minor stock in the poker game laid clearly out on the table. Dynamite was winning, currently, given the small pile of "loot" in front of her. Blade himself had stopped playing for stakes ever since that one night when Maru and Cabbie had driven everyone else almost to financial ruin. Speaking of, he needed to speak to one of those people about a substance in ample supply on this table. The three players just watched him carefully.

"Don't let me stop you, then, ladies." The way they stared at him made some feeling crawl around uncomfortably underneath his plating, in between heavy suspicion and the feeling that he should escape before he heard something that he really didn't need to.

"G'night boss."

"Good night. Keep an eye out for something of Cabbie's, will you? Blackout does not seem to remember what he took, nor where he hid it." If disbelief was a tangible substance, Blade dripped it from his mouth in quantities that would drown lesser folks.

Dynamite cringed a bit on the inside.

"I'll see what I can do about it." Blade gave her a single nod and took his leave in a manner that in anyone else might have been described as fleeing.

The hangar's remaining inhabitants exchanged looks with one another.

"Y'all think he suspects?" Pinecone dropped her voice to a whisper, unsure how far outside the door he still was.

"Oh, he suspects something, alright," Dynamite hissed. "Maybe not what we said," not that there was any way to possibly tell how much he'd heard through the door on his approach, "but I know he was eyeing the hooch we happen to have all over the table."

Dipper sighed.

"When do you think we'll feel the repercussions of that?"

"As soon as he's done ensuring Cabbie doesn't assassinate my boys in their sleep."

Pinecone drained the last of her can sadly.

"Unless he just cuts our supply off at the source."

Dipper and Dynamite just stared, and Pinecone could see the morbid realization wash over their faces. It was too late to warn Maru that Blade was coming his way. They would have to put something nice on his headstone.

"Oh slag."

* * *

AN:

Because ladies night.

Also, I know absolutely nothing about poker. So sorry.

These characters are fun to write together. Next time I'll add Patch; I didn't have a clear grasp of her character when this was written, since she only has a handful of lines.

Also, I clearly need more Cabbie.


	3. Chapter 3 - Smokejumpers & Cabbie

One day, Avalanche had called him "Uncle." Considering it was Avalanche, the whole base heard it. Cabbie had given him the most unreadable stare. Blade, getting Maru to tune-up his rotor assembly, had stopped dead in the middle of a sentence to peer outside. Maru had almost laughed himself sick. Dipper was aware enough to swallow any laugher she had, and if Windlifter had an opinion on the matter, he didn't show it. For their part, the rest of the Smokejumpers did a combination of gasping and giggling that sounded similar to a cacophony of hyenas with asthma. Avalanche just grinned.

Cabbie had snorted and dismissed him with a, "Try my name next time, kid."

Internally, though, the name stuck. Among themselves, well out of earshot of anyone else (and especially Cabbie), they sometimes used the moniker in reference to their ride to work.

They ribbed him a lot; on his age, mostly, and occasionally on his speed, boring pastimes, and "old man music." It went both ways. He would dismiss their inexperience, their brashness, and their often dangerous stunt-devil side projects. They tended to clam up when it was time to load and go, however, and the ride in Cabbie's hatch was remarkably free of snark. Any jibes that were thrown remained mild, and tended to be thinly veiled encouragement.

"See ya later, old man!" Drip yelled as he leaped from the hatch one day.

"Try not to eat too much dirt when ya land," can the husky response.

Drip did end up tasting some soil during that jump.

Cabbie didn't always leave the scene entirely when his part was over. He would often climb out of the crowded lower airspace and circle slowly, watching the rest of the fight unfold. Blade was always easy to spot, his bright red livery easily visible even from Cabbie's altitude ceiling (but he never watched from there; he was getting too old for that slag). Dipper was just as easy to spot, but with regular detours to reload for either mud or water, she was a less common sight than the chief's continuous presence. Windlifter was green and black, and despite being a big sucker, often the only sign of him was the massive red plume of retardant he'd trail behind him. He always kept the corner of his eye trained on the ground, on the lookout for five brightly colored groundpounders up to their floodlights in brush and ash. He never envied their job; it was one thing to fly over a fire, it was another fight entirely to look it in the face and snuff it.

Dynamite was settling nicely into her role as team captain. Following the loss of her predecessor, she received the promotion by acclaim, and Blade made it so. They had acquired Pinecone to refill the gap in the roster, and she had taken to her training like she was born for it (aside from that one accident on her first jump that ended with her in a tree. Maru had pulled more than one bucket of prickly pinecones from her undercarriage and other bits, and the nickname had stuck). Team cohesion was at an all-time high, and work got done swiftly and efficiently. So far that year, a fire had never remained uncontained for more than a couple days, come high winds or drought, or both.

It was on such a day that Cabbie was glad he stayed. It was more dry than normal; the rainy season hadn't been all that rainy, and the start of fire season had come a full month and a half early. With a relative humidity in the mid-teens and a temperature that made ninety degrees look refreshing, the whole valley had become a tinderbox. An unauthorized campfire had sparked a blaze near the valley floor, and it was well under way upon their arrival. Cabbie dropped his overeager cargo in a nearby meadow, waited for Dynamite's confirmation of the team's intactness upon landing, and pitched his nose up hard to take him out of Blade's workspace. The aforementioned air boss hadn't spared a moment, and already had Windlifter and Dipper performing the precise and intricate dance that herded the flames to his whim. He didn't pause his instructions as he passed off Cabbie's starboard side, but tipped curtly in his direction as way of a wave. Cabbie responded in kind on his way to his usual holding pattern, dipping a wing slightly before ascending.

On the ground, Dynamite went to work. With winds out of the northwest, they were currently parallel to the fire. The air tankers were laying retardant up towards the ridge, slowing its rate of spread until her unit could put a line around the rest of the blaze. The crew was deep into their stride, and it progressed as smoothly as she ever could have hoped.

And then it all went straight to hell.

Dynamite heard Windlifter remark on the sudden change in wind direction, as well as Dipper's report on a sudden finger that sprouted at the head of the fire. There were spot fires as well. Blade moved immediately to help them intercept, attempting to at least douse well enough ahead of the fire to slow its spread. Dynamite looked down the line. Broad and clean, her crew did good work. But the urgency over the radio grew more severe; if the fire could not be contained quickly, they might be calling for a strike team.

A gust of wind came charging through the forest, and Dynamite had to blink through the searing air and gritty ash. She watched embers fly from the crowning fire in the trees. Most fluttered harmlessly into the dirt firebreak. It was the ones that made it into the brush on the other side that immediately made her worry. This section of forest hadn't burned in years, and the ladder fuels were thick. They snuffed the ones they could find, but it took only a few minutes to confirm Dynamite's fears, and soon there was smoke as orange tongues of flames consumed dry and dead wood on the _outside_ of the line.

"Pull back! It will be around us soon! Pull _back_!" Her team broached no arguments. They took off down the firebreak; Dynamite was the fastest, but she spent most of her time driving circles around the others to keep them together. Avalanche was the slowest, the 'dozer's heavy treads were built for power, not speed. Even so, they kept a brisk pace. Dynamite thought they'd make it to their safety zone, except that the wind had pushed embers far ahead of them. The small field that would have been their emergency fallback was aflame; without a place to clear enough room to create a defensible space, the fire would burn over them, with spectacularly painful results.

The radio chatter was fierce. On the other side of the fire, the tankers were struggling to stop the inferno's swift charge up the dry hills. Dynamite opened her radio to cut in, when she felt a ping on the second channel. She ignored it, until it came again, rapid-fire, more insistent. She switched hastily, her temper starting to fray.

"_What_!"

"There is a dry, shallow ravine to your southwest about one-hundred and fifty yards. It terminates in a meadow of short grass with an area of about two-hundred square yards. If you go now, you should make it." Dynamite wasn't sure what she expected to hear, but Cabbie's voice was _not _it.

Dynamite looked up as a shadow knifed over them. She could see the wide wings, double-tail, and dark silver belly of the massive Fairchild C119 as he banked slowly overhead. From up above, his view of the terrain would be far superior to hers. The tankers had to reload, so a drop was a few minutes away. And this was not the time to argue.

"C'mon, lets go! We have about five minutes before it overtakes us entirely!" And that was pushing it. With the way the winds were moving, they may have only two. If they didn't go, even less time than that.

Dynamite took off from the line and followed the path Cabbie's shadow took. It was not as easy as she would have liked. Her tires had difficulty finding purchase on the dense leaf litter and slick pine needles under the trees, and she was not the only one. Blackout and Pinecone were having similar issues, although Blackout's sheer weight forced some traction on its own, and Pinecone's wider chassis added some stability. She started to envy Drip and Avalanche's treads, as the both of them were eating through the soft ground cover with no issues.

The narrow, rocky creek bed presented its own set of challenges. While it was a natural firebreak in its own right, it was far too slender to do anything to the conflagration heading towards them. Her tires favored it a bit better, but both Pinecone and Blackout ground their undercarriages on the rocky outcroppings several times. Avalanche pushed past both of them, and Dynamite let him overtake her as well. He moved the larger debris as he went, leaving a relatively smoother line of travel for the rest of them.

Coming out of the gully into the small meadow sent a wave of relief over her. Dynamite wanted to catch her breath, but they were not done yet. Fortunately for her, her crew knew their jobs. The instant Avalanche's treads touched grass he put his blade to the ground, clearing massive swaths of open dirt. Pinecone was not far behind him, raking large amounts of light vegetation to the sides of the clearing. Drip and Blackout removed what large obstructions were present, and it took only a matter of moments for a massive emergency zone to take shape.

In the nick of time, too. Drip had to reverse rapidly to avoid the flames that started to grow along the meadow's edge. It took only a few moments longer and the area around the clearing was engulfed, the fire leaping swiftly from tree to tree, sheets of flame easily rising a good ten feet above the canopy. Where they were huddled in the middle, it grew uncomfortably hot. Still, it was better than the ready alternative.

After a minute, Dynamite realized she could hear nothing but the breathing from her team and the cracking roar of the fire around them. She uttered a not-so-quiet curse, and returned her radio to the field channel.

"—amite! Dynamite! Do you copy?"

"I copy, Blade. We're about three hundred yards from our original safety zone. The fire jumped around us. Hopefully we'll be in the black in a few minutes."

"An update would have been nice. This thing is swiftly outgrowing us; Patch has a call in to the neighboring counties for mutual aid. Once we get you guys out, we'll establish command at base."

"Copy that, sir." Dynamite could hear a great many emotions in his voice as he spoke. The anger and frustration first and foremost, relief if she knew how to listen. She knew she was gonna get one hell of a chewing out once he had time to speak with her face to face.

Her team had settled in around her for the wait. The fire still roared around them, their little clearing the only thing around that was not burning. The smoke rose in thick, billowing clouds that blocked most of the sky, filtering the sunlight into messy patches.

For a moment then, briefly, it was all shadow. High above, through the columns of smoke, they could see the unique outline of an old warplane circling overhead. Dynamite found she couldn't stop grinning.

"When we get back, we all owe Uncle a drink or five." She heard four raspy, coughing giggles. Blackout smirked.

"Shall we tell 'im we love 'im, too?"

"Yes. Even if he tries to slap you with his wings. Yes."

* * *

AN:

Because I needed more Cabbie, and all the jumpers are fun to write.

A brief word on fire terminology used:

Strike team: five like units of apparatus dispatched to a location (i.e. five engines, five brush trucks, etc.), all with shared communications and a single commander. The sister to a strike team would be a "task force" (five unlike units, pretty much any mixture of apparatus).

The black: the already burned part of a wild land fire. A safe place to be in an emergency, since most of the fuel here has been used. The opposite would be "the green," or the unburned area.

Mutual aid: when a given department reaches its load capacity and calls for assistance. Very common for wildfires, but also happens with municipal fire departments as well.

I'm sure I'm forgetting something else. Meh.

Y'all's reviews make me so happy! Wasn't sure what I expected when I posted here, but that wasn't it.

*happy flaily wiggly dance*


	4. Chapter 4 - Drip

"Drip! What on earth is taking so long?"

"Uh…"

How was he going to explain this? He looked down into his claw, the tiny green creature still shaking as it called for the parent that wouldn't come for it. He rolled carefully out of the small gully, trying hard not to jostle it too much as he went. The mop up for this fire was basically done; they hadn't found a live ember in some time. Taking time to check the one small island in the middle of the black, Drip had heard… something. Whatever it was, it was having itself a very terrible day. He'd moved a log to check for anything smoldering underneath, and had instead found a small deere fawn, shivering and screaming for its mother. It flinched when it saw him, but didn't flee, and instead just wailed louder. He had been afraid to touch it at first, wild animals didn't reclaim their babies if tampered with, right? He had gently set the log down and backed out of the gully. If it kept making noise like that, its parent would find it.

As he continued to sift through ash and debris, he did find something that made his lines run cold. Charred black, and warped by the heat, was the plating of an adult deere. A doe too, judging by the lack of a rack. Drip was close enough to still be able to hear the fawn in the gully. Whether it had been fleeing for safety or returning for its infant was anyone's guess, but the flames had been far too much for even the swift deere to out run. He chewed his lip as he looked back at the tiny hole of shrubbery. He knew he really shouldn't; this kind of thing happened all the time in the forest. But he couldn't just…leave it here.

It had taken him longer than he hoped to scoop it up into his claw. It wailed as he came back, and started to squirm the moment he touched it. Fortunately it didn't seem to have the strength to climb out of the gully on its own, and he was able to grab it carefully. It mewled and thrashed around for a little bit, but once it wore itself out it huddled down and shivered.

Which is how he found himself here, heading slowly for the rest of his team with a baby wild animal. Dynamite was going to just love this.

Turns out, the team found him first. Blackout came from up the ridge, tires kicking up dirt as he skidded to a stop.

"Dynamite's wonderin' where you are, _jefe_. Gotta make it to the clearing if we're gonna get a pickup."

"Yeah, I'm coming."

Blackout noticed, then, the green thing he was carrying with him.

"What ya got there, man?"

"A baby deere was in the island over there. I didn't want to leave it."

"What happens when its mom comes looking for it?"

Drip looked back towards the charred field. Blackout followed his gaze, and even at this distance could make out the little pile of blackened metal.

"Oh."

He looked at the fawn, and it stared right back at him. And then it gave a little frightened squeak.

"Well, hopefully its cute enough that Dynamite won't make you leave it here."

"It's not really Dynamite I'm afraid of."

Blackout snorted a laugh, and turned to begin the climb back up the ridge.

"One jump at a time, _jefe_. Gotta get through her before you even talk to the Chief."

Drip adjusted his grip on the fawn and followed close behind, hoping he could smoothen the ride for his charge by putting his treads in Blackout's tire tracks.

Dynamite was the first to greet them when they crested the top. Avalanche and Pinecone were next to Windlifter, who came packing the cargo carrier that would be their ride home.

"Where have you two jokers been? Was almost tempted to make you hike back out of here." She noticed a distinct lack of yelling and racing, and they shared a mighty suspicious look between each other. Drip did that lip-chewing thing he did when he thought he was in trouble, and opened his claw a bit for her to see. What was—

"WHAT IS THAT THING?"

Dynamite rolled her eyes. Thank you, Avalanche.

"It's a deere fawn. I found it during mop up. And before you ask, no, its mom is not coming back for it." Drip chewed his lip again. "Trust me."

Dynamite leaned in for a better look. It was indeed a tiny green baby deere, trembling and mewling in Drip's grip. She sighed.

"You know Blade isn't going to let you keep it, right?"

"I don't want to keep it forever! I know it can't stay with us, but it couldn't stay there either."

By this time Drip was surrounded, and Dynamite could feel the cool shadow that meant Windlifter was looming behind her. Pinecone straight-up squealed when she got a good look. Avalanche was oddly fascinated.

Under any other circumstance, Dyanmite would have made him tuck it under a tree and leave it. Wild animal, leave it that way. But she watched him handle it carefully, and any counter she had died in her mouth. Her team did not have a delicate job; they were rough people doing rough work. But she had to admit, watching Avalanche gentlygentlygentlygently try to touch the fawn with his dozer blade was only the most adorable thing she'd ever seen, as was watching him flinch just slightly when it wailed at the light contact. She gave another sigh, and looked at Windlifter. He stared right back, giving her no more answers than a slight arc of an eyebrow.

Chevy. How the hell was she going to explain this?

"Can I bring it?" Heaven forbid Dynamite deny him the right to stand before Blade's mighty glare and argue in defense of a baby deere.

"Yes, but don't think Blade will let you get more than ten feet onto base without asking about it."

"Yes'm."

"Ain't there a wildlife rehabilitation center in the southern edge of the park? We can take it there tomorrow." Pinecone carefully pet the fawn with her grapple, to the same result that Avalanche got. "Or tonight, if the boss says so," she added wryly.

"SHH! DON'T JINX IT!"

"Never pegged you for an animal person."

"IT'S ADORABLE!"

Dynamite began to herd her team towards the cargo carrier. The sooner they got back to base, the sooner this could be over with. She had to say she kinda hoped Blade let it stay the night.

Because watching her burly crew learn to nursemaid a baby deere all evening was going to be hilarious.

* * *

AN:

Because I needed something adorable for no reason.

Also, was I the only one endlessly amused by the fact that they used Deere as deer? And all the bucks had racks (of lights)? Maybe so. It was like one giant pun, which I like because I'm terrible.


	5. Chapter 5 - Drip II

Drip shifted uncomfortably on his treads. Clutched gently in his grip was the tiny deere fawn, no longer trembling, but it gave a plaintive mewl every few minutes.

All the while, Blade scowled.

Drip swallowed hard. He had expected this to be difficult, but it had been a while since he was the sole recipient of Blade's piercing, icy stare, and he promptly remembered why it was to be avoided at all costs. Like that one time he'd leaped from a hill to escape from it…

Blade cleared his throat.

"So you brought it back here?"

"Yessir."

"To the base."

"Yessir."

"Where we are entirely unequipped to take care for infant wildlife."

"Y-yessir."

Blade's eyes narrowed, and Drip almost thought lasers would soon come shooting out.

"So then, please remind me, since I couldn't quite hear it through the sheer amounts of Bad Idea that was pouring forth, _why_?"

"Because it would have died out there all by itself!" Blade's face did not soften in the slightest. "A-and, I mean, it's also… it's a bit, well, kinda-,"

"IT'S ADORABLE!"

Drip did his very best to suppress a wince. Avalanche was not helping, and he really, really hoped the sound he heard was Dynamite smacking him. Blade continued to scowl at him before deigning to look at the deere. It stared right back at him, and gave a little plaintive bleat. Drip saw something in Blade's continence then, just a bit. About the same amount of difference that a candle would make against a glacier.

Maybe?

"Even hearing it a second time, your reason is still terrible. I don't care how you get it there, take it to the rehabilitation center before the evening is over."

Or not.

Behind him, other people were equally unthrilled.

"I TOLD YOU YOU'D JINX IT!" He liked to imagine he could hear Pinecone roll her eyes.

Drip opened his mouth, only to shut it with a click when Blade cocked a brow.

"Don't even. Do you know what to feed it? Its best chance of survival now is with the professionals." Blade turned and headed for the main hangar, clearly done having this conversation. Drip sighed, and looked down at the fawn. It looked at him and squeaked. He felt someone nudge his flank.

"Good try, _jefe_." Blackout gave Drip and deere alike a sympathetic grin. "That could have gone much more terribly."

"No kidding. Did you see the look he gave me when we got back? Thought I was gonna burst into flames." He heard a dry cackle from behind him.

"Or at least keel over dead. Glad you're still with us." Maru smirked at him, and gave the little deere a glance that looked suspiciously like an 'aww' face. Now that Blade was no longer threatening his immediate vicinity, Drip found himself surrounded again. Dipper and Pinecone were still squealing to each other, and Dynamite and Windlifter watched from a distance. Cabbie was either paying very little mind or watching from a _really_ safe distance. Maru backed out of the throng, and beckoned for Drip to follow.

"I think I got something to keep our guest secure before it goes on another trip. Avalanche! Get in here and help me out." He retreated to the shop, moving items out of the way on his journey to the backmost reaches. Drip was incredible grateful for his help; the little thing's first flight had not gone smoothly. The instant Windlifter's rotors had reached a steady roar, the deere had screamed and struggled like it was dying. Never mind the no-longer-on-the-ground part. Drip had almost feared it would squirm free and fall to its death, and had held onto it more tightly than he knew was gentle.

"Aha! Found it!" Maru rolled out from the back of the shop, Avalanche pushing a large metal crate behind him. Drip remembered it, from when Maru had a set of propellers shipped here after Cabbie over-stressed his own executing a remarkable feat of aerial agility meant for younger, faster planes with jet engines and half his wingspan. It was more than large enough to hold a fawn for transport.

"Place it in here, Drip. I dare the little bugger to wiggle out of this." Blackout retrieved the service ramp; the crate was tall enough that they would need to lower the deere into it. It seemed to know something was up, because it started to squirm about and whimper as Drip rolled up the ramp. He adjusted his grip, and carefully lifted it over the edge of the crate to place it inside. The deere took one look down into the box, and struggled harder, bleating.

"C'mon, the quicker you put it in, the sooner it gets its tires back on solid ground." Maru tapped one of his forks against the corner of the crate.

"It's squirming so much, I'm afraid I'm going to drop it." He was trying so hard to be gentle, but if it wiggled loose and fell into the crate…

"It survived the fire okay, right? Little sucker's tougher than you give it credit." The fawn seemed to take this to heart, and it gave an energetic thrash that jarred it halfway free of Drip's claw.

"Gah!" He managed to get it back securely in his claw again, before sitting back on his treads and letting out a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding. He looked down at it, and it gave a tired squeak. "You are not being very helpful, tiny thing."

Blackout rapped on the service ramp to get his attention, looking thoughtful.

"What if we just scooped it into the crate? Ya know, put the crate on its side, push the deere in, then stand the crate back up?" There was silence as that sunk in. It sure seemed like the easier approach.

"Huh. That might… huh." Maru shared a look with Avalanche, and the track loader heaved the crate over without a second thought.

"TADAH!"

Drip brought the fawn back down the ramp. It wriggled a bit as he approached the container, and wobbled shakily as he set it back on its own tires. He gave it a gentle nudge from behind, and it rolled forwards just a bit. It sniffed the crate experimentally before deciding that it did not want to be there, and jogged swiftly to the side. Fortunately, Avalanche moved to intercept, the broad plane of his blade proving to be a very effective roadblock. It squeaked an indignant fawn squeak at him.

A large shadow fell across the shop threshold, Cabbie's massive wingtips barely missing the building.

"Y'all coming to dinner?" He paused to peer inside and stifled a wince. There was too much nonsense in here for him.

"Yeah, Cabbie, just give us a sec." From Maru's face, there was almost too much for him, too. He did, however, find amusement in watching Avalanche sit helplessly as the deere mewled at him, favoring huddling against his blade instead of going cooperatively into the metal crate. He gave the thing a tiny push, and it just leaned against him harder. He gave Drip the loudest 'do something!' look Cabbie had ever seen.

Heh, brash, brawny Avalanche brought low by baby. Cabbie would remind him of this for years.

With Avalanche blocking all possible escape routes, Drip gave the fawn a gentle, firm push forwards, just far enough to get all its tires solidly on one side of the box. Avalanche caught the lip of the crate by the edge of his blade and raised it back upright. They heard the deere roll to the bottom with a soft thunk.

"Whew! Done with that. Lead on, Cabbie!" Maru heaved a sigh and moved to follow the old warplane to the main hangar.

"But Blade said I have to take it right now." Drip was tempted to race back up the ramp and peer inside. He could hear its little tires scrabbling around.

"No, Chief said you had to take it back _this evening_. He didn't say anything about doing it immediately." Maru gently tapped the crate, grinning when a little mewl echoed out the top. "This'll hold till we're done. C'mon, kid. Fuel first, shuttle your baby later. Have you even had anything since you guys got back from your camping trip?"

Drip sighed and muttered something about it not really being his baby under his breath, but followed Maru's brisk roll towards the main hangar.

* * *

"Are you serious!?" Drip could not even believe his ears.

"I've been around a long time. Seen some things. Trust me, Blade's a secret silver fox." Maru gave him a knowing, lopsided grin as they ambled slowly back towards his shop. They were the head of a small procession who wished to see the deere off on its next adventure.

"No way."

"I'm telling you, it's about as rare to see as digging up a cut diamond, but his Hollywood-level charm skill still exists."

"I don't believe you. I- I can't believe you." Maybe _years_ ago. Before he was _old_. And bitter.

This was the culmination of the gradual degradation in dinner topics once Blade had excused himself. Cabbie had followed not long after, and once free of those who looked down on such things, Maru's high-grade made a triumphant return. Drip always wondered how he did it; anytime the rest of them hid any contraband on base, Blade sniffed it out inside of a week.

A few minutes into sipping the stuff and the topic direction had fallen swiftly from 'We Are Glad Blade's Not Here to Glare at Us for Talking About This' to 'Nobody But Maru Has the Ball Bearings to Say This in Blade's Presence.'

"Fine, have it your way. But one of these days, you're gonna see some poor girl halfway to overheating, and all she did was have a conversation with him. You'd think his tongue was dipped in gold—"

"I would rather not have to visualize these things."

"IT HURTS TO IMAGINE IT!"

Surprisingly, neither Pinecone nor Dynamite seemed to have too much of an opinion. He wondered why.

Drip heard Maru's chuckle die off as they approached the shop. Something was off. Nothing seemed out of place, and the crate still sat in the middle of the room. Had they left it tilted over on its side though?

Oh, _stickshift_.

"Are you kidding me!?" Maru inspected the crate. Yup, the once right-side-up container was now well and truly compromised, and more importantly, no longer contained anything.

"How the heck did it-! I don't even!"

Drip looked inside the box. No deere babies, and not even any tire marks to know where it went.

"Well, you did say it was tougher than it let on." Maru gave him a look that spoke volumes about how Not Amused he was.

"Yes, but it should not have been able to just flip this over. We made Avalanche move the crate because he's strong as hell. I don't care how awesome that deere thinks it is, it should not be strong enough to escape from the inside!"

No one in the shop was able to supply an explanation.

"Maybe it just jumped out?" Blackout thought better of this once he heard himself say it out loud, because that sure didn't explain why it tipped the crate over afterwards.

"Pure, primal tenacity?" Dipper supplied, never mind that it had been shaky on its suspension just over an hour ago.

"MAGIC!?" Maru looked very much like he wanted to bury a wrench in Avalanche's face. The big 'dozer just grinned under the mechanic's glare.

"In any event, we need to find it, if it's not too late."

"Would it have fled back to the woods?" Drip seriously hoped not. Deere were green for camouflage; finding a green creature in a forest? Nobody's idea of fun, ever.

"I hope not. Then we'll never find it, and all kinds of predators will eat a helpless baby deere." Dipper regretted saying this almost immediately once she saw the horrible realization cross Drip's face.

"Well, lets start looking. Last thing we need is for Blade to find it running loose before we do. And we should do it before it gets dark."

Meanwhile, from the quiet solace that was the roof of his hangar, Windlifter watched the proceedings at the shop. The tiny creature had evidently made a break for it while no one was watching, and he could hear the rising panic in Drip's voice even from this distance. In Cabbie's hangar next door, both occupants seemed blissfully ignorant of the shenanigans that slowly washed over the rest of the base. Cabbie and Blade were absorbed in a quiet game of chess, but every now and then Windlifer could hear a friendly jibe or good-natured snarl of frustration shoot across the table.

Something rustled the bushes in between the buildings, and Windlifter watched as a pair of green ears pricked from above the foliage. The little fawn sniffed the air, caught sight of him, then fled behind the hangar next to his. Cabbie's hangar.

Windlifter swallowed quietly, then opened a discreet radio channel with both Maru and Dynamite. They at least deserved a warning before the End was Nigh.

* * *

"It's criminal how good you are at this game." Cabbie heaved what he was sure was the most recent of a mere hundred sighs that had come forth in just the past half hour. Blade smirked at him as he claimed his bishop.

"Imagine how good I'd be if you stopped taking all my pieces." Blade had only settled for Cabbie's bishop. He really wanted one of his knights, which Cabbie wielded with such frightening efficiency that Blade was sure he had been destined to lose during the first few minutes of the match.

"That's what scares me. I was winning, and now I'm suddenly not winning at a speed that boggles my mind."

"Then stop fighting back so much, and I'll end it quick."

"Over my dead body," Cabbie growled, and studied the board. He had to do something about Blade's stupid, irritating queen.

It was quiet outside, but every once in a while a smokejumper would race by, usually alone, and sneaking about in such a way that it made Cabbie's skin prickle. If they started taking his things again…

Something tipped over and clattered to the floor in the back of his hangar, and Cabbie got the distinct feeling he was being watched. The punks were at it again, it appeared. It was neither Drip nor Avalanche, since their treads made too much noise, which meant either Blackout (likely), Pinecone (highly unlikely), or Dynamite (not in a million years). He took a small amount of solace that whomever it was had evidently run afoul of the dust back there; he heard an awful lot of sniffling.

Blade was staring under Cabbie's wing, the expression on his face set firmly at disapproval.

"You kids having fun back there?" Cabbie really hoped they tried to talk their way out instead of making a run for it. Blackout had a clever tongue, but against Blade's razor-edged wit he stood no chance.

There was more clattering, a stifled squeak, and more sniffling. Blade's eyes narrowed sharply, and he sucked a hissing breath through his teeth.

"They are, apparently, but not in the way you're thinking."

Cabbie frowned, and turned as the sniffling got suspiciously close to his landing gear. The tiny mass of green flinched back a bit and stared at him. And squeaked.

"Aw slag."

Drip's little project had clearly escaped his grasp, and decided to show itself around the base. Sure explained the not-so-stealthy activity he had seen recently, and Cabbie felt the tiniest twinge of sympathy. Irritating side projects not withstanding, Drip was a nice kid, clearly kind enough to save injured wildlife, and probably worried that his wild baby was off on its own.

But now it was in his hangar, and he could feel bits of his sympathy starting to peel away.

"Weren't they supposed to have turned it over by now?"

"More or less, yes." At least of they didn't want to make a very long trip of it. There were just a few more minutes of light, and if Drip had any intention of getting Windlifter to carry the fawn to the sanctuary, he'd better do it before the skycrane was grounded for the night.

Blade watched the deere stare at Cabbie before it finally decided to approach him again, continuing its inspection of his wheel assembly. Cabbie flinched when it put its black, little nose against one massive tire, and then gave a sharp yelp when it dove under his belly, nestling itself against his underside. Blade felt a wide, full grin tightening his face.

"I think it likes you."

"It could like me from a distance." Cabbie could feel it wiggling under there.

"Too bad. Looks like it takes after Drip."

"Damn shame, that."

"Too late now. Appears to be wedged under there pretty good. How's it feel to be a great uncle?" Cabbie pinned him with a look.

"Don't you even start." The fawn slowly scooted up Cabbie's underside towards his chin, pressing itself to the wheels there. Cabbie gave a half-hearted chuff that could have been a protest if he bothered to try harder, but he just sighed in resignation instead.

Blade laughed as he watched. Cabbie could talk a lot of acid with the best of them, but he minded his weight carefully as the fawn leaned against his front landing gear. Big softie. Probably why all the jumpers liked him so much.

Speaking of, he'd better give them a call. Shame if he were the only one to witness this.

"I'd keep yer peepers on the game, if I were you." Blade gave Cabbie a smirk before making his move. Cabbie glared at him all the while, intent on ignoring the fawn pressed warmly against him.

What happened next, Blade didn't even know, but in the span of three turns Cabbie had managed to sick one of his terrible little knights on Blade's last rook, a pawn, and a bishop. He was dangerously close to a checkmate, too.

"What the hell? How did-? Are you cheating?" It was this moment right here when Blade thought he might be getting old, because he had clearly missed whatever had just taken place right in front of his eyes. It was a sobering thought, considering his opponent was a good two decades his senior.

"Was I cheating when I was winning earlier, too?"

"I don't know, but that last move couldn't have been legal."

"It's what you get."

"For what!?"

Cabbie didn't get to answer, for the fawn roused itself from under him and slid out. The big aircraft was warm and comfy, but clearly made too much noise for the sleepy baby. They both watched carefully as it sniffed at their table, the chessboard, before finally making it's way into Blade's personal space. He scowled at it, and fully expected the reaction he usually got from people, namely fleeing in terror. The deere merely let his glare wash over it, meweled, and went about slowly sniffing his perimeter. He now understood how Cabbie had squirmed when it stuck its little nose into ticklish places he couldn't see.

"That's cute." Cabbie was sporting the smirk that Blade had borne just a minute ago.

"Hush. Call it back to you." He could feel it trying to smell his tail boom.

"Not on yer life."

The fawn finished it's inspection next to his flank, and Blade watched in horror as it plopped down next to him. _Right_ next to him. Leaning _heavily_.

Cabbie barked a laugh.

"I take that last bit back. _This_ is what you get."

Blade heard the deere yawn.

"Come take it, please. I don't do 'cute.'"

"Sure you do. You're doing it right now."

Blade felt it bury its face against his hoist hatch. Or try to. It was so little, it ended up just nuzzling against his landing gear housing. And then its tiny infant motor made sleepy, purry noises, and Blade knew his reputation would be wrecked for weeks.

Cabbie's gaze shifted over, and his amused grin took on a dangerous quality that made Blade's plating crawl. He was able to turn just enough to see that they had company; Dipper had on the mushiest face he'd ever seen, and Drip was biting his lip in an effort not to smile. Maru, Blackout, and Avalanche didn't bother to hide anything in the least.

Blade groaned. Did karma usually punish one for being grouchy and jaded? Clearly so, because it was bringing the hurt all over him.

And its vehicle for retribution was one tiny, runty, very much asleep deere fawn, which twitched and snorted and snuggled closer to him. Blade decided to settle into the situation with as much dignity as he could muster.

The thing was kinda cute anyways.

* * *

AN:

I did not at all expect the deere to be nearly so popular. By acclaim, here is more. Not sure how I feel about this chapter yet; my Beta is on vacay for three weeks (damn her and her Alaskan cruise), so I'm sure I've got grammatical errors all over this thing. I'll fix 'em as soon as I come across 'em (which will probably be just as soon as I hit 'Post.' C'est la vie)

Cabbie continues to hijack my fics. He has no remorse, either.

Also, I know nothing about chess. See a pattern? If the game doesn't involve d20s, character sheets, and copious amounts of books filled with rules, I don't know how it's played.

Except for Go-Fish. I can play a mean game of Go-Fish.

Lasty, let's all admit it; Blade _is_ a silver fox. That 18 Charisma score? He has it. Hasn't used it in thirty years, but he has it.


	6. Chapter 6 - Smokejumpers & Cabbie II

Dynamite took a deep breath as Cabbie's hatch closed, and she felt the telltale pitching in her tank as he went airborne. It was unusually tense in the hold, with good reason.

This was not a normal drop, by any means.

No one either dared to—or wanted to—question Windlifter's decision to load and go this late into the evening. Blade made him second in command for good reason, and his ability to gage their abilities, likelihood of success, and any tactical advantages were almost as sharp as Blade's own. Fortunately for Windlifter's own preference on the matter, Blade was usually around to assume control of the reigns; the Skycrane lieutenant was much more comfortable taking orders than giving them.

Not so much this time. Dynamite grit her teeth against the worry she felt bubbling up into her throat. Blade was firmly in Maru's care, and if he was confident enough that Blade was out of the mechanic's bay and unconscious in his own hangar, then Dynamite felt it was only prudent to believe in his recovery. Salty, sarcastic old guy he may be, but no one _ever_ doubted Maru's abilities; if they stayed under his care, it was common consensus that they would all live forever.

Assuming they each had nice, long careers. When Patch had received word that the fire had not only raced up the entry road but consumed and obliterated the only gate in or out of the park, Dynamite would have been the first to volunteer to head out to help. Assuming that she had beaten everyone else to the punch. No one on base liked to sit on their aft, and the burning desire to go to work ran deep through every single one of them. Probably why Windlifter had not deliberated very long at all in deciding to lead the whole team out, TMST nighttime air attack regulations be damned. Sure, it was dangerous as hell, but they had long since gotten used to the acrid taste of fear and frequently swallowed past it on their way to work.

Cabbie lurched around them, and Dynamite could feel him leaning hard into the turbulence outside. He shuddered, and they were rocked by a particularly jarring jolt that caused Dynamite and Blackout to knock painfully into one of his bulkheads.

"Sorry." Cabbie's voice crackled over her radio and echoed around his hold.

"Downdraft?" She suspected as much. Air patterns did strange things at night, and it was not uncommon for winds that raced up ridges during the day came charging back down hill once evening fell.

"I wish. About to enter the valley proper. We're gonna fly right through this thing, and let me tell you, it is _going_." Cabbie's voice was unreadable. He was difficult to truly surprise in any meaningful way, and whatever was happening in the valley below them clearly had not been the most shocking thing he'd seen in his long life. Sometimes she wondered if he did it for their benefit. There had been several instances where he had said something to the effect of, "have fun camping, someone warmed up the fire for ya," only for them to leap forth into an inferno of not unimpressive proportions. Often when they got back and took an issue, all he would do was shrug his wings and ask why they had never seen a real bonfire before.

Dynamite felt him square out his yaw and go rigid, engines roaring to provide more thrust.

"Hold onto your bumpers, kids."

"Lets rumble, big guy." Dynamite heaved a slow, deep sigh, and could hear Drip right behind her, and the slight creak of his treads as he dug them into the rough floor of Cabbie's hold.

She could tell the exact moment that they entered the fire area, because they promptly felt their tanks drop as Cabbie was thrown several dozen feet upwards, the ferocious updraft created by the fire causing him to fight hard against the erratic and unpredictable air currents. She heard both his engines fight to keep him on his intended course, and he pitched and rolled vigorously as he rode every eddy of air he encountered. Dynamite rocked into her suspension as he did so. Behind her, she heard her team retreat into their various pre-jump routines, usually reserved for larger fires when nerves began to run rampant. Pinecone was whispering a quiet prayer to herself, which Blackout was inevitably listening to and using to calm his breathing. Drip was softly whistling a battle song of some kind. Avalanche was entirely silent, but Dynamite knew his eyes were closed, face an absolute stone-cold picture of serious determination. For her part, she drew confidence from the four teammates-become-family at her back tires, trusting her to lead them onwards into the hungry conflagration, and from the solid, comforting safety of the massive aircraft that gladly shuttled them to hither and yon.

For his part, Cabbie drew a lot of his own drive from the five little gravelcrushers nestled tightly in his hold. They had complete and utter faith in him, and he had long ago come to the realization that it fueled his own desire to never let the rowdy punks down, ever. Their combined mass easily obliterated his rated payload, but he could not quite remember when he had stopped noticing the weight. Probably around the same time he had started to like them. Blade was right, he was getting softer in his old age.

The smoke and heat burned his throat, and visibility was reduced to only a few feet. He felt his radar ping off Dipper and Dusty, not far off his prow, and Windlifter, powering away through the smoke and ash ahead of them. Every once in a while he would see their running lights ahead of him, but the thick smoke, blinding ash, and flying cinders meant these sightings were few and far between. The heat was starting to sear uncomfortably against the underside of his wings and belly, and he wondered how much of his paint would peel from this.

He was rocked by another roiling air current, and he felt the jumpers shift inside at the turbulence. He set his jaw and waggled his wings to adjust his bearings. He was putting his ailerons through the most vigorous workout in quite a while, and he was sure to feel this in his vertical stabilizers tomorrow morning.

Cabbie noticed that Windlifter's position had steadied on his radar, and he soon came out on the other side of the massive smoke bank. While noticeably clearer, the fire still raged below him (and, to be honest, all around him; he'd never seen it climb the valley walls like this), and the hot, bubbling updrafts made him work to stay on course. Ahead, he could see the lodge. The fire burned all around it, but the defensible space that Blade had vehemently insisted that Spinner build was doing it's job, as were the roof sprinklers that Cabbie was sure were the only reason that the ciders hadn't ignited the wood shake shingles. He spared a moment to frown. Those were awful high-pressure sprinklers for a lodge in the middle of the woods, remodeled or not, and Cabbie had a niggling feeling that their lack of water pressure at base might not be due to the old main line after all. Then he was past it, back into the fire's territory, and a hot gust smacked Cabbie upside the face hard enough to send his nose pitching up rapidly. He felt Dynamite collide against his hatch, and he increased the power to his engines in order to both avoid a stall and to even out his altitude. He had long ago come to terms that this career could be the death of him (even Windlifter had a limit to whom he could carry back to base, and Cabbie's bulk was way outside that limit), but the idea of dooming the five young adults riding with him did not sit well.

Ahead of him, Windlifter was descending into an airdrop-appropriate elevation. Cabbie heard his instructions to both Dipper and the SEAT crackle over the radio, and Cabbie eased off the throttle as he began to hug the valley wall. The tankers would need to outpace him enough to extinguish the fire around the collapsed park gate, leaving only the smallest of space available for Dynamite's crew to aim for. Cabbie gave a wry snort; if there was ever a time for the kids to stick the landing with absolutely perfect accuracy, this was certainly it.

He popped his hatch, feeling Dynamite roll to the edge, Drip at her taillights.

"We will arrive in about one thousand yards. There is a very small amount of space available to land in and since there is such a large amount of tourists on the road, if you land in the crowd they won't really be able to avoid you." Because the last thing this situation needed was Pinecone or Avalanche landing their several tons of weight on top of somebody.

Dynamite blinked hard against the sudden gust of gritty, hot air that had washed into the hold when Cabbie opened the hatch door. When she could see again, she stared out at sheets of flame from valley wall to valley wall. It looked like the entire park was on fire. The only thing not currently burning was the winding entry road, crowed with trapped guests, but the fire was dangerously close, and people farther back were starting to panic.

She swallowed hard at the realization that Cabbie had just flown them through that, and apart from the vicious turbulence they hadn't even a clue. There was no way that several miles of fire hadn't left him with some singeing. Old plane hadn't made a peep.

"Eight hundred yards." Cabbie had positioned himself several hundred feet over the entry road, and Dynamite could see that his wide wings were barely clearing the trees on his starboard side. She took another calming breath—just one in a long string, it seemed—and put her tires on the very edge of the hatch door. With such a limited amount of both time and space, she had to get this right the first time. She could not afford to miss.

"Five hundred yards." Cabbie slowed almost to his stall speed, buying her some time. Behind her, Dynamite heard her team rouse, shifting impatiently.

"Three hundred yards." Drip was bouncing on his treads, and Dynamite could almost imagine the adrenaline-fueled, nearly delirious grin plastered on his face.

"And Dynamite?" Cabbie's voice was not loud, and in a career where one's outside voice got a continuous workout, it caught her attention all the more.

"Please, be careful." His voice rumbled throughout his hold, and she heard Pinecone's breathing hitch slightly.

"You got it, Uncle." Cabbie didn't even comment on the team nickname, and Dynamite didn't know if she was disappointed or touched. Out of sight of her and everyone else, Cabbie grinned. He'd hold her to that; heaven help whomever didn't make it back in one piece.

"Two hundred yards." Dynamite leaned against her set brakes, watching the ground beneath them, felt the weight of her parachute against her bed. She heard Avalanche rev his engine once. Twice.

"One hundred fifty yards."

Dynamite let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, unlocked her brakes, and fell.

* * *

AN:

Because clearly my need for Cabbie is never satisfied, ever. Oh well. At least it makes me write. I was gonna do a totally different project, but then this came out.

Grammatical errors may abound, as my usual beta is still on vacation. I will fix 'em as soon as I see 'em.

Words n stuff!

Yaw: The side to side rotation of an aircraft.

Roll: The side to side tilt of an aircraft. The pitch, conversely, is the front to back tilt of an aircraft.

Same terminology is also used for boats.

I also threw out my research notes for this, because all the Smokejumpers together far outstrip a common Fairchild C119's load capacity of five tons. Given that Windlifter works out, I'm just going to figure they have the ability to increase strength with repeated stress, like any organic creature (which means Windlifter must be a _monster_; any normal Sikorsky S64 has a load capacity that exceeds their own weight of almost ten tons, so he must just be an absolute brute).


	7. Chapter 7 - Blade, Maru, & Windlifter

Blade knew something was up by the size of Maru's grin. Big as the damned valley, and it looked like it hurt. He couldn't even remember the last time he had smiled that hard; he wasn't sure he could any more. Blade watched the mechanic thank Windlifter for the ride back and make a beeline for the main hangar.

He hadn't said anything when his team had headed for the Fusel Lodge (minus the Smokejumpers for obvious reasons, and Cabbie because he rightfully had better things to do), and he knew they knew better than to invite him. He would be caught there only if he was dead or it was on fire. Cad Spinner could be either, and he would stay at base. Exactly where he was now, on the canyon overlook, minding the radio and watching the valley. If the group had noticed him on their approach to the airstrip, they showed no sign. He watched the SEAT try to shake Dipper as he backed towards his hangar. It was not working, and she stalked him against the wall. Blade snorted, but was unconcerned. Weird she may be, but Dipper knew the rules: no interteam shenanigans. Or, as he'd heard them whisper quietly, "if Blade doesn't hear it and no one gets hurt, come what may."

Well, that was a horrific line of thought. Time to get rid of that. Because just the mental image of—gah, _no_. He needed a drink, right now.

He rolled quietly towards the main hangar, intent on ignoring whatever things-he-did-not-need-to-see was going on out of the corner of his eye. He gave a clipped cough to get their attention, and his presence at least caused Dipper to creep back to a somewhat less up-in-Dusty's-grill distance; the trainee used what common sense he had to duck past her into his hangar and shut the door. Good boy.

Blade hadn't made it inside the main hangar even half his body length before he came face to face with Maru, gap-toothed smile leering over the edge of a very large can of high-grade. Blade frowned. That was not supposed to be on base. Heaven forbid Patch get a fire call and their mechanic (or anyone else) is too drunk to tell his face from a pile of rocks. Last thing he needed was the TMST in here.

Maru looked at Blade, looked at the can, looked back at Blade, smirked the slag-eatingest smirk he'd ever seen, and actually had the manifolds to slide him a matching can. Blade opened his mouth to chastise, but Maru beat him to it.

"Yeah, yeah, no high-grade. Can't have the guy who keeps this place running face down and cratered in the kitchen." He followed this with a deep, loud swig that Blade could practically feel himself.

"Pretty sure I told you to get rid of that."

"I did. The ladies drank slash gambled it all during that last poker game of theirs. I had to get more."

Blade sighed it mild frustration. This was not a new topic of contention.

"Why would you get more of exactly what I told you to get rid of?"

"Because we all like it." Maru matched Blade's scowl with his own grin. While a can of midgrade was not uncommon at base, the air boss had been waging a war against the harder stuff. With good reason, Maru admitted, since any sort of inebriation in the air led to a swift death when one's job was to fly nap-of-the-earth while the ground was on fire. With another crew, Maru would have agreed with Blade entirely. But they lucked out; they had solid teammates with good sense. Everyone here busted their bumpers for months at a time, so Maru saw no problem with a shot of the strong stuff here and there. Now, how to explain the extra large "shot" in front of him currently…

Maru's smile had not lessened a centimeter for a grand total of ten minutes, and Blade was starting to worry.

"Trust me, boss, I will be leaving for bed entirely sober, since I want to remember everything that happened tonight."

Blade cocked a brow, coming fully inside to exchange the high-grade he'd pretend he didn't see (he'd been doing a lot of that this evening) for a much more modest can of cheap mid-grade. Maru shook his head, and took another swallow that Blade was sure would have entirely destroyed the tolerance of most normal people.

"Do I want to know? Is it something Spinner is going to complain about later?" He almost hoped that they had broken the whole damned lodge. Almost.

"Yes, you do want to know. And no, it's nothing for Cad to get his upholstery in a bunch over."

Blade sighed and resigned himself to being regaled with stories from the lodge. Incredibly out of place opulence? Check. Awful coffee? Check. People taking their pictures next to a cutout standee of the Superintendent? Hahahahahahahahahaha! Check. Adorable old couple, back again after fifty years? Check. Windlifter's toast—what?

"There have been whole days where I swear I don't hear him speak more than three words. What kind of toast would he even give?"

Maru's grin took on a wolfish quality that also heavily implied an oncoming inside joke.

"Remember that story he told you when he first came here?"

Blade remembered. That terrible, terrible load of fakeness that involved a coyote eating his own tires. Against his will, and better judgment, Blade felt the beginnings of a smirk tightening his face.

"Heh, has he found a way to top that one?"

"No, but you should have seen everyone's face as he told it. Took all my effort not to laugh."

"Wait. _That's_ what he used as a _toast_?" Blade could feel his smirk turning into something quite a bit more conspicuous.

"Oh yeah. Truly priceless. When he started it off as 'a toast to Coyote,' I knew we were in for a ride. Almost thought the kid was gonna call him on it, but the doubt is not strong enough in him."

"Neither are several other things."

"Aw, ease of the guns just a bit, Blazin' Blade. He's not dead yet, so it's not hopeless. You thought Avalanche and Drip were gonna be the same. And let us not revisit your first impression of Dipper."

"Huh." Yes, let us _please_ not.

It was at this point that the hangar door opened, and there was suddenly much less space inside. Windlifter pulled up short as he was greeted with identical smiles. Maru's expression was entirely normal, and caused no more discomfort than rain did. The dangerous smirk on Blade's face was not normal, looked almost predatory, and made Windlifter throw his gears in reverse in a prompt attempt at a speedy escape.

"Ooooh, no. Get back in here." Windlifter paused at the threshold, briefly pondering the odds of beating Blade out into the air, before deciding that it was not quite worth jogging a gear loose trying to race Blade's reflexes. He rolled quietly back inside, hearing Maru move to shut the door behind him.

"How did that party at the lodge go?" Blade was still grinning. He was still grinning? Chrystler, no wonder his face hurt so much.

"Hn." Windlifter kept it cryptic and simple. Too bad Blade had seen through him years ago.

"Don't give me that. I heard the Coyote made an encore appearance." Blade and Maru shared a look, and Windlifter could see he had been outed.

"I have many stories about Coyote."

"Yeah, but he only eats his own tires in one of 'em, Windy." Maru was sipping on something that smelled distinctly stronger than anything he should be having. He was also not being helpful.

"No one else caught on at all? Really?" Blade was a combination of baffled and highly amused. None of them had heard real Native American legends before? Seriously.

"Nope. You should have seen Lil' D's face. I wonder if she remembered to breathe."

"Dipper has heard all of these before. I can't imagine how she still believes every one of them." Blade twirled his rotors idly, slowly. Windlifter cocked a brow slightly. It had been a while since the air boss was in quite such a good mood.

"So have all the Smokejumpers. They hang on every word. I think Dynamite may be comin' around."

"I can't read Cabbie. He's either seen through the trolling, or he just stops listening right before each of Windlifter's stories stop making sense."

"We should sell books of 'em at the Fusel Lodge's gift garage."

"I can see how that could come back to bite us real hard."

"Yeah, I guess."

Windlifter just listened. These two had long ago taken varying degrees of delight in how many people would believe the stories he put forth as legitimate. In reality, he did have a trunkful of truly legit legends, and couple trunkfuls of… stuff embellished with a great deal of creative liberty.

He had once been told that people were willing to believe anything they already perceived as the truth, no matter how unconscious. You expect the Native American to tell you stories about nature? You'd believe whatever they told you. Windlifter had tested this theory once, more than thirty years ago. He hadn't quite stopped yet.

Maru believed all of the first three stories Windlifter ever told him. Blade let him get through one before his highly tuned BS-o-Meter went off. Since then, they had learned which were real, which were fake, and Windlifter knew they took a great deal of pleasure watching other people struggle to tell the difference.

"We should get Windy to tell Cad something about a spirit or whatever hiding its treasure in the lake and see how long it takes him to get a dredger out there."

"Thirty minutes. He'd fly them in himself." Blade took a slow, languid sip before his eyes widened. "Even better, we should tell him the treasure is under the lodge. The stars predict its… right in the center of the main hall floor." Maru shot Blade a wicked grin.

"Drip is right. You do have an evil side."

"Maybe I just have an evil twin." He said this with such a passive, deadpan stare that even Windlifter had to cough quietly to keep from laughing.

"Two of you? The weight of your sarcasm would cause the planet to implode."

Windlifter lingered for a couple moments more before moving to leave them to their conversation. The topic was drifting towards the point where Windlifter wondered weather or not Blade had taken a couple sips of Maru's dangerously potent brand of high-grade. He didn't expect to move from the table without drawing Blade's attention, but he let Windlifter get all the way to the hangar door.

"Leaving so soon?"

"The good ones don't write themselves, Chief. He's gotta sleep on the next of 'em."

"Is someone going to spontaneously combust? Just give me a warning before you tell it, so that I can laugh in private."

"Trying to preserve you reputation, boss?"

"Damn straight."

Spontaneous combustion, eh? That would be new. Windlifter filed the thought away for further use, right behind a handful of others he had stewing. One day, he'd bring out the big guns, just to watch Blade laugh for real, and in public. In the meantime, he'd let them speculate.

Windlifter turned back slightly when he reached the hangar door, the most imperceptible of smiles on his face.

"You should hear the one where Deere regurgitates his own engine in order teach the first vehicles medicine."

* * *

AN:

This was actually written almost immediately after I wrote Ryker. It's been sitting on my hard drive since, and I still feel kinda iffy about its completeness. It may be outside my skill to portray accurately.

Did anyone else feel that Windlifter's character played really, really hard into the Native American stereotype? My friend (beta) and I did, until we watched it again and noticed that out of everybody, Maru was sporting a big-ass grin while Windlifter was telling that Coyote story. Also, note the abrupt change in his speech pattern when they're actually working a fire. Our headcannon now says that Windlifter is the world's biggest troll; he knows the real legends, sure, but most of the time he just starts a story and makes it up as he goes.

Windlifter, Captain of Team Trollolol. Get that image out of your head now. :3


	8. Chapter 8 - Avalanche & Maru

Maru knew it was bad when Dynamite called for a pickup. After working with her for several years, nothing in his memory ever recalled a time when her voice had taken on the frantic shrillness that came over the radio. He'd heard her during an active burn over, injured, trapped, and exhausted, sometimes all at once; she was calm and collected on the air, all the time. This however, on the Dynamite scale from Meh to Oh My Slag, was up there somewhere by The World is Ending.

They had only been in response for a handful of minutes; Blade had requested ground attack, Cabbie had made it happen, and away they went. A routine jump, in all respects. It took only seconds more before Dynamite was calling for an air evac; apparently her own tires were not even on the ground yet. Cabbie bit out coordinates, and even through the radio Maru could hear his engines roar as he made a hard bank back around. Blade spared no time in peeling Windlifter from his holding pattern to assist, and the emergency traffic was thick enough that halfway through, Maru had to remember that there was an active brushfire out there, also.

Maru pinged Cabbie on a private channel as he prepped his workspace. Best know what he was dealing with before it landed in his forks, and who better to get it from that the one who watched it happen.

"Both the kid's parachutes failed to deploy." Cabbie's voice was clipped and tight.

"_Both_?" Maru had to roll that idea around in his head for it to sink in. A single parachute failure was uncommon. For an emergency chute, which had to be packed by a certified rigger, to fail as well was almost unheard of.

"Well, one and a half. First chute failed entirely, neither canopy caught any air, so he cut it and tried the emergency one. Only one of those double-canopies opened. Looked like it pulled just enough drag to stop him from permanently engraving his pieces into the landscape." Cabbie had years of practice making clear, concise calls during emergencies, but Maru could hear the stress boiling under the surface of his calmness all the same. "At least he hit a dirt hill instead of that large boulder a couple yards east of him."

There was only one "he" in the jumpers with a heavy-duty chute.

Maru winced. Avalanche didn't use a double-canopy parachute for the fun of it. He was barely more than half Blade's height but only a ton or so lighter. From a jumping altitude, at his weight and compact size, he would have come in at an absolutely ballistic pace, half a chute or not. Even if he were soon aware of the critical failure of all his chutes, he would have descended far past the point where anyone on the jump team could assist. As the last one to unload from Cabbie's hatch, it was a miracle that he hadn't crashed into someone else on his way down. Maru was at least relieved Blade didn't attempt a mid air catch. The boss had scary good aim, but in the event that Blade successfully grappled any part of Avalanche with the hoist, Maru would have two patients instead of one; either the force of Avalanche's fall would rip the hoist right out of Blade's hatch, or he would pull Blade to the ground with him.

Maru heard Cabbie land on the airstrip before picking out the distinct rumbling sound of Windlifter approaching the base. The warplane hit the tarmac hard enough for Maru to be worried that he may have jarred something loose. He barely eased off the throttle as he taxied to the end of the runway before flipping an abrupt about-face to watch Windlifter bring Avalanche in. Maru retrieved the tow hook, and waited for the Sikorsky to set his load down.

Maru hissed through his teeth as he gave a quick once over of the damage. His entire front half was encrusted with soil (presumably what remained of the hill that had broken his fall). Avalanche's dozer blade was _bent_, which spoke volumes to the velocity at which he had been introduced to the ground. Similarly, the hydraulics in his booms were heavily damaged, showing signs of severe compression. The booms of his lift arms themselves had dislocated, deformed in places, and Maru could see several bolts that had either come loose or been shattered. All these systems were leaking hydraulic fluid at an alarming rate. His cassis itself looked like it had compacted in places. His right tread was dislodged from the drive wheels, and the entire left tread assembly was in severe need of realignment. Fortunately, Maru could see little more that superficial damage to his canopy; he may be unconscious, but it did not appear that his injuries were, by themselves, severe enough to kill him. But he had all of them, and if Maru didn't stop all that bleeding…

He raced to undo the harness straps and get Avalanche on the tow hook. He was glad Windlifter had placed him as close to the bay as his massive rotor span would allow. With the damage to his treads, Avalanche was almost impossible to roll, never mind the decompression of his hydraulic drive system. Windlifter assisted him, and with his help Maru was able to get the injured track loader into the hangar work floor. The Skycrane lingered for just a moment, gazing from Avalanche to Maru, and to Cabbie still looming on the tarmac, before returning to fire attack.

Maru opened Avalanche's engine compartment door. The impact had jarred several wires loose, as well as most of his oil and fluid hoses. Several mounting lugs had been sheared. Avalanche was leaking a great deal of vital fluids, but his engine itself was remarkably intact. Maru would run a diagnostic later, but it looked like the most essential parts of his core had made it through relatively safely.

He'd live. Which was good, because while Cabbie was under the outer awning of his hangar, currently minding his own business, Maru knew he was keeping a close eye on the proceedings in the repair bay. He was worried. They all were, but only Cabbie currently had enough free time to brood over it. Last thing Maru needed was for him to hover about like some giant, infernal bird.

Maru went to work stymieing the leaking hoses. He clamped the leaking lines in this engine compartment, taking the time immediately after to replace the hoses with undamaged ones before moving to stop what bled from his chassis. He had to grab a cutting torch to get at the deeper lines. The same heavy armor that had likely prevented Avalanche from being killed immediately upon impact made it difficult to reach more vulnerable components. It took Maru longer than he liked to reach the hoses near Avalanche's undercarriage; there was more damage here than he'd thought, but with the lines repaired that lead to his engine, he wasn't in any immediate danger of bleeding to death. Maru was relieved to see that there was very little actual framework damage to the track loader's chassis. He checked for any weakening in the metal and soldered what cracks and strains he found.

With his lines repaired or replaced and no longer leaking oil or coolant, Maru moved to focus on his hydraulics. All the Smokejumpers minus Dynamite had extensive amounts of hydraulic lines and systems in their bodies, and Maru found himself burning through a great deal of his supply repairing Avalanche's damaged hoses.

Maru sighed as he inspected Avalanche's booms. Dozer blade and chassis aside, possibly the single strongest part of him, structurally. Given the severe damage, it appeared that Avalanche had managed to impact the earth blade first, which probably saved his life. Brawny sucker or no, if he had broken his fall with his canopy, with the rest of his weight coming in behind, he wouldn't have even survived the ride back. His booms showed the damage that came with absorbing his momentum, namely buckling towards the fore, near where the blade attached. His press might be strong enough to return them to their original shape, but he wouldn't know until he got them off the kid and over there. Maru was really worried about the hydraulic pistons. They gave his lift arms their impressive strength, and Avalanche's were particularly thick and heavy. He wasn't sure if he had any large enough for his specs, and they had to be able to withstand the brutal amounts of stress Avalanche put them through on a daily basis. The alloy itself was easy enough to replicate; he might have to fabricate some from scratch.

Maru didn't even notice how late he'd worked until he heard Blade clear his throat from the hangar threshold. Maru set back from the press; it was time consuming, but he was gradually bending the first heavy boom back into place. Blade gave Avalanche a slow once over, face almost entirely indifferent. Maru, however, had known him long enough to be able to read the unreadable.

"He should pull through alright. Lucky thing Dynamite called as soon as she did, or he may have bled out before he got here; almost every soft, non-rigid piece of him had ruptured, it seemed." He was sure Blade could tell; he hadn't yet finished mopping up the hydraulic fluid from the floor.

"How long, you think?" Maru was sure Blade was passing on any information he had to Dynamite. Several of the jumpers could be hyper and aggressive on a regular basis. Add adrenaline and worry, and the group was probably close to being classifiably rabid.

"I can repair his lift arms, but it's slow going. Gotta make him some new hydraulic tubes for his damaged pistons. I have another dozer blade that will match his specs with a little alteration. Can't even believe that it bent like that, never seen anything like it. Scratches and dents aside, everything else critical is practically done. Still gotta realign his treads, though."

Blade gave a soft 'hn' and nodded slightly, his eyes having barely left Avalanche since his arrival. The track loader looked smaller when not brandishing a blade on his front.

"Keep me posted, Maru."

Maru snorted. That went without saying.

"You got it."

* * *

It felt like digging his way out of mud. With his mind. Even his thoughts felt sodden and heavy, and it seemed like an eternity before his eyes actually opened as he wanted them to. He had to blink (and one of those 'blinks' felt like he had actually just gone back to sleep for a minute) to clear his vision, and it improved slowly. He waited another moment for the room to stop spinning around him, and gave a groan of frustration when the world refused to fully sharpen into focus.

"You awake, kid?" Maru was surprised to hear Avalanche rouse from unconsciousness. He expected him to be out for at least a couple days. Would be more merciful, too, because any one of these injuries could be excruciatingly painful.

"M-ru?" Was that _his_ voice? Even with effort, it came out so quiet. Avalanche growled to clear his throat, but even that was soft and indistinct. Then the world spun again, and he decided that it was too exhausting to fix. There were other things to worry about, like why he felt so achingly numb all over.

"You know it. Welcome back to the land of the living." Maru moved from where he was repairing Avalanche's tread belt so that he could see him.

"I c-n't move."

"Nope, no you can't. I've disabled the drive to both your treads so I can retread and align them. Your blade was wrecked, in a spectacular fashion I might add, so you're getting another, and I had to remove both your booms for repair. I'm crafting you more hydraulic pistons as we speak; hopefully I can reassemble everything tomorrow." Maru soon realized that tomorrow was today. These overnighters were starting to become routine.

"Is th-t why I f-el numb?"

"Possibly, but that is sure better than the alternative." Avalanche gave a grunt to concede the point. He counted himself fortunate to have stayed unconscious through what may have otherwise been pain not meant to be felt outside of hell.

"-s that wh- I c-n't talk?"

"No, but I wouldn't force that issue too hard. Most of the rest of your systems check out, so that will probably heal with rest." That, and Maru didn't think he'd heard Avalanche use anything resembling an inside voice, ever. It had been a handful of years now, and everyone just assumed that Avalanche had simply forgotten how to not yell at some point in his life.

Avalanche gave a soft, slow sigh and settled in for the wait. The sun was coming up, and the slight predawn light turned the tarmac a deep blue. The numbness was starting to give way, and his injuries were beginning to ache uncomfortably. He set his jaw, and elected not to make a peep. Maru went back to repairing his damaged tread belt, and Avalanche could hear him humming quietly to himself as he worked.

His head hurt, probably a concussion, but he fought through it to collect his scrambled thoughts. It was hard to remember exactly how he got here. Clearly while working. A slight breeze rustled the blades of grass outside, and Avalanche's memory came crashing back through him hard enough to force him to swallow a gasp. There was a point, during the fall, where he noticed that he was close enough to see every blade of grass on that hill. The panic that had reached unbearable levels when he'd pulled his chutes left him utterly, and all he'd thought before he'd hit the ground was "huh, well this kinda sucks." He heaved another sigh that was one part exhaustion and another part dizzying relief. On some level, he didn't think he would survive the fall. Avalanche eyed the pieces of himself that were strewn all over the hangar. Slightly unnerving, seeing that much of himself not currently a part of, erm, _himself_, but much better than being dead.

Avalanche could feel his exhaustion canoodling with his injuries, and the resulting seductive beckon of unconsciousness nearly did him in. He blinked hard and gave a quiet snarl. He wanted to wait, to see his team, to tell them he was okay and stop worrying, especially Dynamite. If anyone happened to over torque their engine from apprehension, it would be her. Maybe it was a team leader thing. Oh hey, the blackness on the edges of his vision was back…

Maru could hear the subtle changes in his breathing, which probably meant he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Hopefully he could convince him to go back to sleep; pass the time faster for him if he did. He completed the heavy tread belt and set in next to Avalanche's refurbished wheels; he'd put those back on as soon as he finished with these infuriating hydraulics.

Maru heard the sound of a hangar door slide open, and looked at the clock. Six thirty-five, on the nose, which meant that it was Blade up for coffee. He soon saw a small reflection off of almost immaculate red and white livery as Blade made his way towards the main hangar. He shot a glance over to the repair bay, and Maru watched his eyes widen a fraction, presumably crossing glances with Avalanche, and he cut a sharp ninety-degree turn towards the bay.

"Good morning, groundpounder." That group nickname held new meaning, now. He remembered turning just in time to see the eruption of dirt that followed on the aft of his plummet to the earth. Blade gave Avalanche one of those slight, soft smiles that was as close to an outward display of concern as Blade ever got.

"Morn-ng, Chi-f," Avalanche gave Blade a tired grin.

"You had us worried, for a while." Understatement of the century. Blade would lobby for a plaque.

"Nuth-n really. Just lev-ling hills w-th my face." Blade allowed himself to smile for real, and could see Maru grinning widely as he worked.

"That was quite a splendid nosedive. You could give fighter jets lessons."

"You should se- m- barr-l roll." Avalanche gave the most exhausted version of his usual slag-eating smirk Blade had ever seen.

Maru looked up from where he was diligently measuring a new hydraulic piston with a caliper. Lets see the kid wear these suckers out. He was also mildly surprised that Cabbie hadn't come to hover yet. He looked at the clock again. He'd give it 'till seven.

"If his sense of humor is still intact, I think I've done my job right."

"Looks like you've fixed that volume problem with his voice, too."

"I take no responsibility for that, but I can't say I'm totally unhappy with it."

Avalanche grinned at them before his face fell a bit. He frowned, worried. The rest of the team was clearly still out, but he knew nothing about the fire conditions. Was it contained? Partially contained? Advancing? It could have been upgraded to a campaign fire, at this point. They would have to carry his workload, and that caused an uncomfortable weight to settle in his tank. He should be _there_. With _them_.

Blade read his expression.

"They're still out in the field. Fire got to about two hundred acres before they contained it. Since it was down on the valley floor, and the winds were rather mild, it wasn't all that aggressive. I doubt they'll be out far past noon." Avalanche gave a quiet nod and seemed to relax, and Maru got the feeling that he would not be awake for too much longer. Blade seemed to get that idea too, and gave Maru a slight nod.

"I'll leave you to it, then. You need anything?"

Maru wanted to say something snarky along the lines of "a larger budget, pretty please," but he'd spare Avalanche the resulting conversation.

"If you'd save me some coffee, that'd be great." He felt like he would be able to drink gallons of the stuff right now. Or just bathe in it. Yes, one whole bathtub of coffee to go, please.

"I will, but I'd much rather you get some rest when you're done." Blade had seen Maru pass out from sleep deprivation once before. It was both hilarious and worrisome.

Maru snorted.

"I'm not makin' any promises." Blade shot him a knowing smirk and took his leave. Maru gave a wry smile; as the leader of the Works His Way Through Normal Nighttime Hours Club, Blade new better than to push the topic.

Avalanche sighed; he didn't feel so heavy anymore, on the inside. His team was alright, even without him. He wasn't foolish enough to imagine that he carried more than his share of the work, but he did carry _his_ share of the work. They were now one member down, so everyone else would have to hustle to do both their part and his. That didn't sit well with him, but there wasn't any helping it. He felt a little pride, though. They could handle it. His team could handle _anything_.

"Take a nap for a while. It's going to take some time for me to put back all the pieces of you that I've got laying about all over the place."

"B-t—" He wanted to be awake when they got back. He wanted to say "hey," and "thank you," and "I'm so sorry…"

"No buts. You've got at least six hours before the crew gets back. Trust me, Dynamite will book it as fast as her tires will take her, with the rest of your hoodlum crewmates right on her tailpipe." Maru was emphatic, and after meeting his gaze in a match of wills that he knew he was destined to lose (the guy could stare down Blade with nary a flinch, after all), Avalanche relented. He felt his exhaustion welling up to claim him, carrying him towards the warm bliss of unconsciousness faster than he would like. He stopped trying to fight it, but even so…

"Th-nks, Maru." His voice came out as little more than a tired whisper, and he was asleep almost before he was done speaking. Maru gave a soft chuckle as he heard him begin to snore quietly. Setting the freshly minted hydraulic tube aside, he put the second boom onto the press. Might as well finish this before his shop became filled with noisy, anxious Smokejumpers.

"It's what I do."

* * *

AN:

Just because I'm fond of Avalanche. Volume aside, seems like a fun person to hang out with. Also, the kind of burly friend you call when you need to move some furniture down the stairs. :D


	9. Chapter 9 - Ryker & Blade

Blade didn't know quite what he expected when Patch announced the arrival of the TMST investigator, but having to stare up at a massive, bulky ARFF was not what he had in mind. Not gonna lie, he was anticipating a government paper pusher, not a guy who was built and outfitted for active duty. He met Blade's gaze from clear across the base, and adopted a brisk pace crossing the tarmac in his direction. With him was his aide, a forklift with a much less intimidating but equally unamused stare as his boss.

He had known it was only a matter of time before they showed up. His own crash aside, having Dusty go down in a national park was sure to draw their attention. Patch, as their equivalent of tower control, logged everything that happened. Still, inside of a day? This was quite a speedy response, especially from the feds.

The investigator nodded crisply to Cabbie and Windlifter as he passed them, and to Dipper as she turned slightly from her post in front of the repair bay. The Smokejumpers all watched from the safety of the main hangar threshold, and Blade could hear them whisper to each other as he approached.

"Whoa." Drip was halfway hiding behind Dynamite.

"No kidding." Blackout looked very much like he was going to forcefully trade places with Drip. Or hide behind Avalanche.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone able to scowl like Blade before."

"And he just got here, I don't think he's really even angry yet."

"I BET THIS IS WHAT HIS HAPPINESS LOOKS LIKE!" No mistaking who that was.

"I wonder if his eyes can kill people, like Blade's can." Pinecone _was_ hiding behind Avalanche, peeking from around his canopy.

"Don't drive between them; the force of their combined disapproval will suck your soul out." Drip and Blackout both nodded sagely. Blade could not have been any more grateful than when Dynamite shushed them all with a fierce hiss. If he could hear their poor attempt at keeping quiet, no doubt so could this guy.

The huge crash tender rolled up on him, stopping just close enough to ensure Blade's attention, but not enough to crowd his space. He wondered idly if it was a tactic.

"Chief Ranger." A statement, not a question.

"Indeed." He didn't feel like correcting the agent yet. This guy could turn out to be a keelhauling crankshaft.

"I am Ryker of the Transportation Management Team, and I am here in regards to a pair of incidents that occurred two days ago."

Of course he was.

"You refer to Crophopper's crash."

"Yes, and your own." Blade could still feel the tightness of the freshly soldered injuries on his left flank. Maru was still working the kid over in his shop, and hadn't had time to smooth the warping or apply fresh paint.

"According to the time on your logs, your incident occurred first, so we will begin there, if you do not mind."

"Please." Blade got the feeling that he didn't have a choice, one way or another. Even so, he was far more comfortable discussing his own wounds than someone else's, especially if that someone else was still out cold in the repair bay.

Ryker's eyes went to the burn pattern on Blade's side.

"Is that the injury that caused the incident in question?"

"It is."

"My apologies. Under what circumstances were you exposed to temperatures capable of causing such burns?"

"I'm a wildland helitanker. I fight fire for a living." Blade found he had to fight very, very hard to keep any sarcasm from his voice. He'd give a piece of his mind to anyone, but pissing off government agents tended to cause more problems than it was worth.

"Yes, from the air." Ryker gave him a look that said this should be obvious. "So, under what circumstances would a helitanker be exposed to such high temperatures for the prolonged amount of time required to cause extensive burns on your flank panels?"

"Teamwork." Blade knew he wouldn't make any friends with that vague of an answer.

Ryker frowned.

"You will have to explain in detail."

"My job as Chief requires me to safeguard my crew, Mr. Ryker. Whether airborne, land-bound, or otherwise."

"Explain." If the agent frowned any harder his eyes would be closed. Blade stifled a sigh, and decided to bite the bullet.

"My pain tolerance is much higher than his."

Blade saw something flicker in Ryker's countenance, face relaxing ever so slightly, and the air boss bit back a smirk. Rigid government enforcer he may be, but he still knew active service, it seemed. Only another online firefighter understood quite what Blade meant, and Ryker appeared to be no exception. It was the kind of thing that happened only when everybody's chips were down and a scene descended to hell in a bucket. His eyes wandered over Blade's injury again, contemplating.

"A member of your ground crew?" His voice carried less of an edge. Not much, but enough to let Blade know that he'd struck something in him.

"Ground_ed_ crew." Blade felt his eyes slipping towards Maru's hangar, and he shut that motion down as quickly as possible. Not fast enough, though, as the ARFF followed his gaze towards Dusty in the bay.

"The logs on Crophopper's incident measure over twelve hours after yours."

"They are unrelated, yes." 'Because I succeeded,' he hoped his expression read. Ryker gave a quiet 'hrn' and an almost imperceptible nod. Message received and understood.

Ryker's aide flipped over several sheets on his clipboard, tapping his pen against something on a document. Ryker regarded it briefly, before something there captured his attention. The frown was back.

"His incident happened at night. What occurred during Crophopper's flight that caused his crash?"

"Critical equipment failure." Ryker gave Blade a look that clearly wanted more than that. "Crophopper had previous damage to his gearbox."

"He was allowed to fly with a damaged gearbox?"

"It was not critical, provided the RMP of his engine remained in the lower eighty percent of his maximum."

"Provided he did not redline his engine, pushing his VNE speed."

"Correct."

"What sort of activity was he engaging in that would require him to push his throttle?"

"Fire suppression."

"At night?"

"Yes."

Ryker's eyes narrowed.

"I will assume you are aware of fire suppression regulations regarding nighttime air attack procedures?"

"I am."

"And yet you authorized this?"

And there it was. No matter, no regrets. And no delay, else this guy would notice.

"I did." Behind Ryker, Blade saw Windlifter stiffen, his rotors rotating a jolting quarter turn in surprise. Blade didn't dare risk shooting him a glare to keep his mouth shut; the agent's eyes were good and keen. Fortunately, Cabbie knew well enough to give Windlifter a firm, silent shush. The Skycrane closed his mouth slowly, reluctantly, and Blade furiously ignored the pointed stare he sent him. He knew Windlifter would force a conversation about it in the future.

"What suppression tactic required him to stress his engine?"

"He was taking on water for a drop."

Ryker cocked a brow slightly.

"Water. Not retardant?" Ryker was clearly no fool; taking on water at night was half the reason aircrews were grounded at sundown. The risk of an accident was incredibly high.

"Our water lines at base were down last night. We were unable to load retardant. We still don't have any pressure, actually; there may possibly be a rupture in the line."

"I passed no municipal water district conducting repairs on my way in, nor any signs of a water line breach." Ryker looked at his aide, who shook his head. The investigator seemed to reconsider something, the frown easing somewhat into something more closely resembling slight suspicion.

"Where is the control valve for the base's water from the main line?" The way the question was asked, Ryker seemed to know already. He'd probably made a note of it on his way here. Formality, maybe? Investigator's trap? Good try; Blade knew everything about his base.

"At the Lodge. Above ground, on the side of the building." Ryker nodded, and Blade stifled another smirk. He _did_ know, the bastard.

"And an in-line lever denotes normal flow to the base, yes?"

"Negative, the lever is perpendicular to the pipe when it flows to us."

Ryker looked at him sharply. _Very_ sharply. Blade felt his smugness begin to crumble a bit.

"Perpendicular?"

"Yes."

Ryker's eyes narrowed, but Blade got the distinct feeling it wasn't at him. The massive agent scowled, and Blade could hear his engine rumble up into a low, growling idle before he gave a clipped sigh, schooling his reaction back down to a professional neutrality. Something was up, and it caused Blade's skin to crawl a bit.

Someone else had arrived on base; Blade could see Windlifter and Dipper turn to look at them. Blade himself could see nothing around Ryker's bulk. Were those huge tires entirely necessary?

"E-excuse me?" Ryker closed his mouth on whatever he was going to say next; he turned and moved, and Blade could see the lodge's concierge sitting behind him. He watched the little forklift give a tiny flinch as the huge investigator scrutinized him, giving him a cold once-over before deciding he was of little importance to the task at hand.

"Chief Ranger—" The forklift started.

"Just 'Blade', please." He rolled forwards until he was just outside the forklift's personal space, causing him to look Blade in the face, relaxing ever so slightly. Huh, that actually worked. He'd have to use it more often. The concierge shifted a bit nervously, and kept looking back behind him as if someone would come leaping out of the bushes.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting, but we have a bit of a problem."

"Can this wait?" Blade did _not_ care about issues at the lodge right now. Didn't Cad say there was a type 1 engine posted down there now? Surely this was as much their problem as his.

Ryker seemed to agree. Go figure, common ground.

"This is an official TMST Incident Investigation—"

"Which is why I am here." He was wringing his forks together. He seemed to be gaining confidence, though. And ball bearings; Ryker did not look like he was used to being interrupted. Blade knew the feeling. "You see, Mr. Spinner had me turn on the Grand Fusel Lodge's roof sprinklers last night, to protect it from the fire."

"I saw, they were remarkably high-pressure. Cad certainly spared no expense." Good to know that at least part of his repurposed budget went to fire prevention, of sorts.

"T-that's the thing. They are not high-pressure. Not without, erm, help. A boost, you might say."

The silence thereafter spoke volumes. The realization hit Blade like a tree to the face, and somehow hurt more. For a moment, Blade thought it was hard for him to breathe, until he realized that he was just feeling his caustic, scalding rage settle in his throat. In an attempt at not cursing hard enough to peel his paint again and give Maru a run for his money, he settled for a low growl, the sheer contempt contained with in it clearly echoed in the faces of his crew.

"I knew it." Cabbie's voice was a low hiss.

Blade kicked up both his engines, the sound of their slowly loudening whine only further heating the fluids in his lines, his adrenaline rising with the RPM of his rotor assembly. He had several things to say to Cad. Right now. Heaven forbid he find him relaxing down there, because he would put all four of his rotors down Spinner's throat and _twist_…

He heard several massive tires roll up next to him, and he killed his engines. Chrystler, he still had to deal with the TMST agent.

He was surprised, then, to look to his side and see an expression that probably mirrored his own. It was masked by that same hard, neutral authority that Ryker had worn for the entirety of this engagement, but Blade had felt it enough in his own face to recognize it. The investigator didn't have the emotional attachment (and, deep down, Blade knew that's what it was) to the base, and the people here, but evidently this situation rubbed hard enough against his acceptable protocols to elicit a reaction.

Whatever standoffishness Blade had harbored against the ARFF sloughed away. Angry on his behalf? On his crew's behalf? That went a long way towards vouching for someone's character, in Blade's book. It must have been a tough choice for him, to move from suppression to investigation. He eyed the blue and gold Maltese cross emblazoned proudly on Ryker's flank.

Blade heard the agent's engine rumble up into gear again, and his aide shot him a look of veiled surprise. Ryker ignored it, and Blade found himself face to face with a scowl that, once again, he did not think was meant for him.

"Chief Ranger, I will require your self inspection and recent repair reports, as well as your standing orders." He was abrupt, hasty, as if he suddenly had more pressing issues to attend to.

"You may have mine, and we can supply standing orders, but most of Crophopper's reports will have to come from his mechanic."

Ryker seemed to find this perfectly acceptable.

"I will return for those, then. I am familiar with Crophopper's mechanic; we will obtain those ourselves. In the meantime, I must see to the rest of my investigation." He pinned the concierge under his gaze. "I take it Mr. Cad Spinner is currently posted at the Grand Fusel Lodge?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

Ryker turned and, with a curt nod to both Blade and his team, sped off at a markedly brisker pace than he had arrived. With his strobes on. His poor assistant had to rush to catch up.

Blade felt a borderline feral grin slither across his face, apparently startling enough in appearance that it caused most of his coworkers to cringe out of the way. He pushed it to the side, and restarted his engines. If the federal investigator wanted to speak to Cad, _right now_, Blade would have to be dead in order to miss it.

"Maru." He pinged him on the radio.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna head down to the lodge."

"Really?" He could bottle Maru's surprise and sell it, it was so thick. Blade's contempt of that place was no secret.

"I do believe that finally, after years of forcing us to put up with his slag, Cad has finally run afoul of someone with more authority that him. He's about to get his paint flayed off, bumper removed and shoved down his intake and out his tailpipe, and I will be there to watch."

Blade could almost feel Maru's fierce sneer match his own. Longtime friends, and all that. He rose into the air, stored his landing gear and took off after the TMST Crash Investigator. He planned on perching somewhere that afforded the best view of the TMST throwing the book at Cad, and Ryker seemed like he had a _lot_ of heavy, brutal law books.

He felt that terrible, cruel grin sliding back on, and he did nothing to hide it.

"So you better break out that high-grade I know you have hidden away somewhere. Tonight, I'm gonna sit out back and drink my motojito."

* * *

AN:

Because I promised someone that Cad would get what's coming to him. However, my ability to write seems to have died a painful death this week; there will be a part two when my skill rises from the afterlife.

Because Ryker deserves my best while I have him rip Cad Spinner three new exhaust ports. :3

Words n' stuff!

ARFF: Aircraft Rescue and Fire Fighting vehicle. Like an Abrams tank, but full of 3000 gallons of water and foam solution. Ryker is an Oshkosh Striker 3000, the coolest of the cool.

VNE: One of an aircraft's various V-speeds. VNE means 'never exceed', and is often colored red on an aircraft's speed indicator. This is the speed at which an aircraft becomes unstable in the air.

Type 1 Engine: Your typical municipal structural fire engine. Engine types range from one through five, but types three through five are usually used only for wildland firefighting.

There are typos in here, hiding like ninjas. When I find them, they will get fixed.


	10. Chapter 10 - Ryker & Spinner

He had looked right at it. He had looked right at that pipe, clearly large enough to supply water to more than just the lodge, and seen very little amiss. The strange, vague markings on the valve and line had bothered him, but that was for a building inspector; out of his jurisdiction, and he had more pressing issues to contend with at the base. Even so, old habits died hard; when his assistant had come back from his pit stop to find Ryker inspecting water mains in log buildings he had smirked, and suggested that the crash tender probably needed a vacation something fierce.

Ryker had to settle the ravenous RMP of his engine when merely the thought of taking leave, when there was _work to do_, made his seethe dangerously. It could not be good for his fluid pressure.

He should not be so angry. He'd encountered far more egregious code violations than diverting water from an airstrip. Inadequate emergency procedures, unregulated and untrained tower control, that one party thrown on a landing strip (complete with fireworks), just to name a few.

Even so, that small part of him, the personal part that obediently sat quietly while he worked, was noticeably more active within his mind. _He screwed you over_, it prodded. Not me, he mulled. Not my line of work anymore. He'd traded protecting a district for protecting a country, and never looked back. _Your brothers, then_, it poked harder. _Your brothers and sisters who still roll when the siren goes off._ The Maltese crosses on either flank burned, and he still remembered the adrenaline, wheels moving so fast he didn't remember there was solid tarmac underneath them, the smell of smoke and foam and fuel. He growled. His steel mask was slipping, and he did not like it.

His assistant was still trying to catch up, and, with great difficulty and a deep breath that came out more like a hiss, Ryker eased off his engine. He gave a clipped, if heartfelt, apology; his aide merely gave a small nod as he gasped for breath.

That was rude, and unprofessional. Ryker made a mental note to insist on paying for coffee next time they made a stop.

He schooled his face back to his usual stern façade, and promptly shoved his personal vendetta into a corner for it to stay, or else. His tires touched the smooth cobblestones of the Grand Fusel Lodge driveway, and what few people were present moved most promptly out of his way. Most everyone seemed to be an employee, except for one large white SUV with a crisp green park logo and a beautifully immaculate paint job.

Ryker heard the deep, pulsing sound of a set of powerful rotors, and in his rear view mirrors he could see the Piston Peak Air Attack Chief set down on a helipad in the uppermost levels of the lodge. His personality gave a quiet sneer from its corner, and he gave it another vicious shove. What the helitanker did or watched was none of his business.

Ryker gave a loud 'whoop _whoop_' of his siren as he approached the park superintendent, and he heard his aide click his pen. He had loads of questions, and heaven forbid it take him long to get some answers.

* * *

He did not have time for this.

Cad frowned as he watched the agent blaze across the yard towards him. He'd heard that an Incident Investigator from the TMST was sniffing about, but that he'd headed up towards the fire base. Good thing, too; that fire had gotten so far out of control, something had to be wrong. What did he pay them for, if not to put the wet stuff on the red stuff?

The agent stopped right in front of him, close enough that Cad rocked back on his wheels before he could stop himself. Well, that was rude. He also didn't like how it forced him to look up at the guy.

Part of him also made a note that this agent was flippin' _huge_. The hell did he eat, raw iron ore?

"Uh, can I help you?" He really hoped not. This mess wasn't going to clean itself up, and hell if any of his employees had an eye for sophisticated details. That, and this guy looked like the exact opposite of fun-to-talk-to.

"Mr. Spinner, I am Ryker of the Transportation Management Safety Team, and I have some questions regarding a pair of incidents in conjunction with the Piston Peak Valley Fire that occurred yesterday."

"I'm sure you do, and I wonder why you're down here. You've already been to the fire base, yeah? That's their business, not mine. Whatever they told you, you should probably turn right back around and take it up with them." Cad didn't know anything about any crash (and he knew it was a crash; the TMST was a large collection of ambulance-chasers, after all). It hadn't happened at his lodge. He rather hoped it was Blade; sanctimonious chopper might actually shut his mouth once he got dirt in it.

"You are the park superintendent, are you not?"

"You betcha." And don't let anyone forget it.

"Then this _is_ your business, which makes you _my_ business." Cad did not like being patronized. This was his lodge, and his park, and it was going to make him very, very popular (which lead to wealth, and everyone knew money was power). Except that it seemed every firefighter west of the Mississippi took an issue with that.

"Am I busy right now? Yes I am. Call my secretary, she'll schedule you in." If this guy were anyone else, Cad would just as soon never call him back, but a government agent might have contacts that could make his upward mobility somewhat more difficult.

"My time is limited, Mr. Spinner. It is in your best interest for this to happen now."

"I don't have time, as you can _clearly_ see."

"Would you rather a warrant?"

Cad gave an indignant snort. Under what authority did this oversized water truck think he had the right? His eyes picked out several decals painted on the agent's flanks that quite possibly denoted that he had it under his _own_ authority to do so. Cripes, out of all the investigators to send, and he had to get the one with rank.

"Fine, you have five minutes. Go." Cad did not at all like the way the investigator stared at him. It reminded him of a certain uptight, unpleasant, filthy forest hippy of a helicopter.

"When did you become aware that there was a brushfire threatening the Lodge?"

"Pft, does that matter? I don't keep track of every little campfire in the park."

The TMST secretary scribbled something on his clipboard. Cad found the sound of his pen scratching on paper to be oddly irritating. Almost as irritating as that strange creaky-groany noise he'd been hearing for the past half hour.

"When were you first notified of a mandatory evacuation order issued for Piston Peak National Park?"

This investigation was sounding more like a police grilling. Cad got the inkling that the firefighters had diverted the agent by sic'ing him on Cad. Well, let's just see how that went for them.

He heard the deep vibrating rumble of a helicopter. It was that massive green Indian spirit sage, or whatever; Blade's big brawny tree hugger. Speaking of the red devil, he could see him up on one of the helipads on the upper floors. When the hell had he gotten up there? He moved over as the green one set down next to him on the helideck, and Cad could just imagine that sharp, mightier-than-thou sneer slithering all over the chopper chief's face.

Here to watch, huh? Cad squashed a smirk. Sure, why not? He just wanted to see their faces when he refused to sign all those paychecks next week. Someone had to pay for the time he was wasting with this stunt. Karma could be a _bitch_.

" 'Mandatory,' huh. Not even necessary. Look, if they'd stayed in the Lodge they'd all be safe. See, fire didn't even cross the driveway." That extra-large open space he'd agreed to had actually worked. "Sure would have been more fun than trying to drive out of here in the middle of the night with hundreds of other people." The agent frowned at that. Erm, frowned _harder_.

" 'With hundreds of other people.' What is the occupancy rating for the Lodge?"

Was this guy deaf? Cad was pretty sure he'd just said that there had been whole slews of people attending the Lodge's grand reopening. Might as well have been a parking lot in there. A fun, happening parking lot.

"From the front to back door, and ceiling to floor. Hard to have a grand reopening if it isn't grand. The more the merrier, am I right? Of course I am."

"The occupancy rating, Mr. Spinner." If it were possible—and Cad didn't think it was—this guy was even _less_ fun than Blade the Buzzkill.

"Oh, come on. You're looking for an actual number? It's a lodge! It fits at least twice as many people as it has rooms. Couples and families, and all of that."

"If you cannot give me a figure, it should be posted—"

"Posted? No, no, no. I was very specific that anything to be hung on the walls goes through me. No useless clutter or tasteless décor."

"Are you aware that the International Fire Code—"

"Fire code my muffler. You want fire protection? Take a good, hard look at the sprinklers on the roof. This is a log structure. Pure wood, Mr. Tyler—"

"Ryker."

"Whatever. All that matters is that those puppies turned this place into a water feature last night. Looked like the Bellagio Fountains, let me tell you, and it caused this pure wood structure to survive the nonsense that was that inferno."

"Sounds like your pressure may be adjusted too high."

"Piffle. That's what I wanted. It was too low, so I turned it up." Water, water, everywhere. It had been glorious.

Stickshift, what _was_ that terrible sound?

"You turned it up." The investigator looked unimpressed.

"Yeah. _I_ turned it up. Couldn't get any decent help to do it." Little stuck-up bellboy had the nerve to tell him 'no.' He had already turned the sprinklers _on_, was it really so difficult to then turn them _up_ as well? Granted, Cad'd just about slipped a disc brake trying to throw the switch, and he was many times the little forklift's size, but that's the kind of work the help was _for_.

"What kind of sprinklers do you have, Mr. Spinner? Emergency sprinklers should not have a valve for boosting the pressure that can be accessed by non-firefighting personnel." The scowl on the agent's face was a borderline glare. "Where is the valve that controls pressure in the sprinkler system, Mr. Spinner?"

It was right about now that Cad got the feeling that he should have stopped talking a few minutes back. Something deep down told him it was for diverting the water from the main line. 'The firefighters need that to make deodorant,' or whatever the bellboy had said. Egads, was this his conscious? Get that out of here. He needed that mental space for ambition. And his current levels of ambition told him he was at the precipice of slippery, career-damaging slope. Best get out now, make this truck work for his questions.

"Your five minutes is up, Mr. Ryan."

"Ryker."

"I don't care. Are we done here? Yes we are."

"We are nowhere near finished with this issue."

"Why do you assume that I know anything? Mud and smoke and dirty dirt are not my cup of tea, _trust me_, and I keep my stunning Luminous Blizzard paintjob as far from that nonsense as possible. All I've ever done is run some sprinklers, which is _entirely legal_."

"Normally, yes. But I've gotten reports of a lack of water pressure at the air attack base stretching from last night to my investigation this afternoon. An emergency sprinkler or standpipe system should not allow any civilian to just tamper with it, not without at least triggering an alarm on the system. With that in mind, Mr. Spinner, _where is this valve that allowed you to increase water flow to your sprinklers_?"

"You're the federal investigator here. Go 'investigate' for it. It won't do you much good, it will look entirely normal—"

It was at about this time that the irritating groaning sound stopped and was replaced with the loud scream of tearing metal. A thick running pipe, part of the matrix that fed the roof sprinklers, ruptured explosively, filling a massive cone with flying shrapnel and water. Cad threw his gears in reverse; water might disrupt his wax, but he'd need a repaint if those sharp metal bits got him. The agent's secretary, on the other side of him from the rupture, was shielded from the impromptu geyser by his large boss' bulk, and was able to get out of dodge before he (or that paperwork) was soaked. The investigator was not so lucky, and Cad watched as he was engulfed by the deluge, completely disappearing into the spray. He heard a sound that might be small metal pieces bouncing off the agent's plating.

He gave a quick glance around. There was no one within sight that wasn't watching. Didn't they have better things to do? Like figure out how to turn all that water off. It was going everywhere.

Turn it off. That valve lever; had he remembered to turn it off after last night? They'd shut down the sprinklers once the coast was clear this morning… oh, slag.

Cad heard the growl of his engine before he saw the investigator emerge from the water, rolling forward slowly until his back bumper just barely cleared the spray. This also put him squarely in Cad's personal space. Cad flinched as he gave a slow exhale through all his vents, flinging water all over the place. He heard a click, and watched the secretary write furiously on that damned clipboard. The agent cleared his throat, clipped and tight and cold but still nowhere near as frightening as the glare on his face. If Cad found his gaze irritating before, it was downright apocalyptic now. Deep inside, his common sense tapped him on the flank and told him that if he didn't want a federal investigator to return to the government with less than favorable reviews of him, he'd better start placating.

Wait, wasn't the Secretary of the Interior still on grounds somewhere? Making the government much, much closer that Washington? Well, spit him like a roast…

Cad met the big truck's steely scowl with an awkward laugh he hoped to hell the guy didn't see through.

"W-well, that was, uh, new. I assure you, it's not supposed to do that." Cad pinned a nearby employee with a glare and sent him towards housekeeping with a ferocious hiss. He turned back to his most unhappy guest when he heard his huge tires crunching small bits of gravel into the cobblestones.

"So, aheheh… towel?"

"Valve, Mr. Spinner. Right now."

* * *

Blade had to dredge up the deepest of his reserve willpower to not laugh. He winced instead, but he was sure the effect was ruined by the grin on his face that he could not seem to get rid of. Part of him wanted to be furious; the ever-rational part of his personality took immense offense at the amount of water being wasted as it erupted from an over-pressurized, blown-out pipe. This part, however, was being danced upon as his sense of humor thoroughly enjoyed watching the overflow consume Ryker entirely. He did not entirely feel bad for him; the crash tender was tough enough to impress, and he carried more water than this _inside_ of him. The humor came from the fact that Cad's misstep had just reared back and bitten in the face one of the few people able to send his career and high-flying ego on a painfully catastrophic introduction to the ground. He rather wished he were closer. When the investigator slowly rolled from deluge and crowded into Cad's face, he would kill to see both expressions. Even so, he could hear the ARFF's massive engine from his perch on the roof; it made a deep, threatening, purring rumble that carried so many unsaid threats Blade was sure Ryker's assistant would need another clipboard. Blade had heard Avalanche make a similar sound once.

Even from a couple hundred feet away, well out of hearing range of any normal conversation, he could see that the entire demeanor of the confrontation had changed. Cad was suddenly much more accommodating; he was placating, clearly, and it did not take long for Ryker's next bark to send him scooting swiftly towards the side of the building. They passed under Blade's helideck as they did, and he had to resist everything in him that wanted to rub his sneer in Cad's face. He was able to school his expression down just long enough for himself and Cad to cross gazes. The superintendent's sheer contempt just fueled Blade's glee.

'Glee', huh? He'd keep that description to himself. Sounded way to upbeat for him. If anyone asked, he'd describe his feelings as 'tentatively optimistic.'

Windlifter shifted so that Blade could see off of his end of the deck. Blade was glad the Sikorsky was so tall, else he couldn't fit under his rotor span. Beneath them, Blade could see the lever and water control valve in question. Also, the reason for Ryker's immediate suspicion at the base; indeed the lever was down, in-line with the supply pipe, and still shunting water to the lodge. Seeing it with his own eyes tempered his good mood a fair bit. How _dare_ he. That was borderline willful endangerment.

At this distance, Blade could pick out their conversation.

"D-did I say that _I_ had flipped the switch? You see, what I meant was—"

Ryker was clearly not buying any of it. Cad had evidently put his tires so far inside his own mouth he couldn't possibly pull them out.

"I was assuming Cad was clever enough not to incriminate himself to the TMST." Blade gave a soft chuckle; where was the sport if Cad wasn't at least going to fight back a_ bit_. He wanted to see Ryker unload all over Cad. What had Drip called that level of anger and badaftery? Beastmode? Yeah, that's it.

Next to him, Windlifter gave a quite 'hm' as he watched the proceedings below.

"My mother gave me a piece of advice once, something she'd learned from her parents, and their parents before them." Windlifter gave Blade a look, and he recognized it well enough as the closest to an outwardly visible smirk as Windlifter ever got. " 'Never pass on a good opportunity to shut up'."

Blade suppressed a snort. Truer words had never been spoken. Nothing hurt like saying too much.

Across the lot, Blade noticed both a yellow fire engine and a smaller, older SUV heading dead-to-rights for Cad and Ryker. One was surely the Fusel Lodge's assigned engine. Blade'd never met the guy. He frowned; he should endeavor to fix that in the near future. The other, Blade couldn't quite place, but from the scowl on his face and the crisp logo on his flank, he had a lot of unpleasant business with Spinner.

As the distance closed, Blade almost choked in surprise. That logo. The Department of the Interior? All his Christmases, they were here, and it was only late July. If Ryker carried a big stick, this old guy wielded a whole slagging tree. He could feel his 'tentative optimism' give an excited spasm.

* * *

He'd had to sit in that water stream for a moment to get his thoughts under control. The water had scattered them to the wind, and it was hard to order his mind back to normalcy when a writhing, searing rage pumped hotly through his head. He was glad the spray hid his expression, gave him time to slowly, _forcefully_, return it to some vague semblance of something professional. White-hot anger did not a good conversation make. He could feel the water settle into the seams on his plating, as close to cooling his interior as physically possible.

Upon emerging from his impromptu shower and returning his attention to the task at hand (which had become so much more personal than he would have ever liked), he found Cad Spinner to be much more docile in his engagement. Except for that flippant remark about a towel. Unnecessary, unless his motive was to send Ryker to an early death from fury-induced fluid over-pressurization.

Cad was now much quicker to comply with taking Ryker to the water flow control valve on the side of the lodge. Sure enough, it was that same ill-labeled thing he'd looked at earlier today. The superintendent was equally quick to throw the lever back up into its normal positioning. Or try to; Ryker would never admit that watching him struggle to flip a switch was darkly amusing.

Ryker's attention was drawn by the approach of two other vehicles. The first, a large yellow type one engine, met his gaze and gave him a crisp nod, which Ryker returned smartly. The second caused him to sit a little higher and sharper on his suspension; it was not every day the US Secretary of the Interior rolled through his investigation.

Ryker frowned a bit. There was no way he had traveled all the way here from his office in Washington just for this, and in such a short amount of time. Ryker's job required a prompt on-scene response; the Secretary's did not.

"_Spinner_!" That was not the tone of voice possessed by a calm man.

"Ah! Mr. Secretary!" The grin that stuttered across the superintendent's face was one of the most forced Ryker had ever seen. If Cad could dig a hole deep enough to hide in, Ryker was positive he'd be doing it right now.

"What the hell is going on!?" Ryker gave some ground, allowing the Secretary to place himself immediately in from of Cad.

"O-oh, this? It's nothing!" He shot Ryker a nervous look. "He's almost finished, and it's certainly nothing criminal…"

"I didn't mean _him_," the Secretary snapped, and Ryker took no offense, "I meant the park! How was that situation last night allowed to devolve so badly?"

"It didn't turn out that bad. The lodge is fine!"

"I don't give a _damn_ about the Lodge!" Ryker noted that hearing this made Cad look visibly hurt. "I meant the fire. The evacuation! Where were your emergency plans, your staff to control traffic? Mr. Jammer, Pulaski and I had to do everything ourselves!" Pulaski. Ryker looked at the yellow engine, who fidgeted just slightly with a front tire in minor embarrassment. The crash tender noted damage to his canopy nozzle.

"The fire didn't look that big…" Cad mumbled.

"Not that big!? I was in it! Almost everyone in the park was in it!" Even Cad balked at that, and Ryker heard what sounded remarkably similar to a pair of helicopters wincing from the roof. "You—we—are so lucky your air attack base threw their rulebook out the window to give us a line through the fire! At _night_!" The Secretary stopped to catch his breath, and took some time to look at Ryker. The ARFF sat quietly and let himself be appraised.

"Is that what this investigation is about, Mr. Ryker?"

Ryker did not opt to show any surprise that the Secretary of the Interior knew who he was.

"Partially, sir. Mostly in regards to a pair of aircraft crashes, at least one of which may stem directly from an improper divergence of a main water supply line from the Piston Peak Fire Attack base." The Secretary nodded, and seemed to consider something, briefly.

"Consider their fine paid."

"Beg pardon?"

"For engaging a wild fire at night. Consider it paid, since I highly doubt even I'll be able to dissuade one of the authors of the current Aircraft Safety Code from enforcing the regulations he wrote himself."

Ah. His name was in the credits of that handbook, wasn't it? And with his Investigator ID number painted on his plating, he supposed any quick government search would pull him up. He looked at his aide, who grinned wide enough for the both of them (he'd have to talk to him about that later), scribbled something on a document, and gave Ryker a nod.

"Done, then." If the two helitankers up on the deck had any reaction, he didn't hear it.

"Do you still need to speak to Mr. Spinner here for anything else?"

"Yes. We are not done talking about his misappropriation of a municipal resource." He fixed Cad with a glare, and was surprised when he was met with an indignant squawk.

"Actually, if I may, I'm quite busy here—"

"_Actually_, he has all the time in the world. Take what you need from him."

"M-Mr. Secretary—" Cad started, only to be cut off by the Secretary's frosty stare.

"Don't you even dare, Spinner. No one here has time for it. All our jobs now include cleaning up your mess."

"But what about _my_ job?"

"What job is that? You don't have a job."

Cad's eyes widened.

"W-wait. You can't—"

"I have, Spinner. Get your things and get out."

Ryker heard his assistant's pen click. He let his gaze get away from him, crossing with the Fire Chief still perched on the roof. He did _not_ share a smirk with him; he had no stakes in the career of one overbearing park employee. It did not stop him from taking note of the dangerous grin that fought its way across the red chopper's face. He rolled up to Spinner, this time close enough to be pushing _way_ past bullying, and put his steel mask back into place.

He had an investigation to finish.

* * *

AN:

*whew* Here it is. Part two, In Which Ryker Has a Bad Day, But Cad Get's What's Coming to Him.

Guh, parts of this one feel weird to me, but there's no helping it. I gotta get back to my regularly scheduled silly and cute stuff soon.

Its, like, 3am for me right now, but I was so determined to finish. This chapter is entirely unbeta'd, and I'm sure i have weird grammatical errors and awkward tense changes in here. And typos. I'll edit once I wake back up. I also seem to have gone crazy with the italics, but it's probably because I don't have quite the skill to put the emphasis in a sentence where I need it.

Ryker is still mad fun to write. Also, methinks I'll give poor Pulaski some love in the future; poor guy got hired just in time for the slag to hit the fan.

Also, more Ryker. Cuz he's awesome. Did I mention that? Oh, well.

Ryker.


	11. Chapter 11 - Pinecone & Cabbie

The early, cold fall rain beat hard against Pinecone's plating, cooling and soothing the caustic, burning rage-hate-_embarrassment_ that roiled around inside her. She bit her lip hard to distract her from the telltale stinging in her eyes that meant she was close to losing her composure. She was glad that the rain and evening darkness hid any signs of her distress from everybody else.

It was her second season up in Piston Peak. Her first year was originally for training purposes, but towards the end she had been given an offer at a permanent position. It had become abundantly clear that the resident chief was difficult to please, much less impress, and with few other commitments to see to, Pinecone had signed on the dotted line with very little thought. She liked her teammates, and they seemed to like her, and the rest of her first shift was the most fun she'd had in quite a while.

She'd arrived for her second season almost six months ago, and was feeling the ache that came with busting her aft all summer long. She enjoyed it, though; it was rather like an extended camping trip. An escape via work.

She did not expect her former life to come crashing back into her.

This afternoon was a typical lazy day around the base; she could hear Avalanche's hoarse shout and Drip's enthusiastic whoop from somewhere outside. She found them doing what she thought they'd be doing, repairing (and 'testing') the well-worn dirt ramps and jumps they'd assembled on the edges of the base. Dipper hummed to herself as she tended her flower garden. Windlifter was hoisting logs again, Cabbie was partially inside Maru's shop for maintenance, and Patch had come down from the tower for coffee. Blade was nowhere to be seen.

It became abnormal pretty darn quick, when about an hour later Avalanche screeched her name from somewhere on the tarmac.

"HEY, PINECONE! YOU HAVE A GUEST!"

She'd frowned. Who'd drive all the way out here for her? She had no acquaintances anywhere remotely nearby.

She'd made her way slowly over towards the end of the airstrip, passing Dynamite and Blackout on the way. Dynamite had given her a smirk.

"Got your boyfriends knocking at our door, huh? You bad, bad girl. I'm almost jealous. Just make sure Blade don't see him."

Pinecone frowned. She didn't have a boyfriend. Not since… well. _That_. Someone was clearly speaking to Avalanche, who moved aside at her approach with a grin and a, "KNOCK 'EM DEAD!"

Knock him dead. What irony, considering her guest was a no-count, slag-sucking, bimbo-chasing sack of garbage named Her Ex. Really named CJ, but his real name could jump off a cliff and die. It felt like her face had frozen into an expression combining both her extreme shock and the urge to plant her rake grapple in his eyes.

"Long time no see, babe."

Pinecone sputtered, bit down on a reply that was entirely too impolite for a lady to utter, and settled for a growl.

"…what are you doing here?" And, more importantly, how the hell had he found her?

"I'm here for you."

"That's rich, considerin' how you left me," she hissed. The vitriol must have saturated her voice, because she heard Avalanche's engine stutter briefly as he did a quick about face somewhere behind her.

"I know, sweetheart. I came to beg forgiveness. I want—"

"To leave. Right now." Pinecone was done. Maybe a year ago she would have been broken enough to listen to him. But she was done. Her life had been on an upward track ever since, and she was not going to ruin it for this guy. Not now, or ever.

"Aw, just listen, please. I came all the way here to get you because I want to make it work with you again. You were the best thing to ever happen to me!" CJ moved closer, well into her personal space. She backed up an equal distance.

"Was I the best thing to happen to you when you abandoned me on the altar?" The emotions were starting to scratch at the walls she had erected around them. This had to end quick, before she embarrassed herself. She could already feel old, dead feelings clawing at her throat and eyes.

"I know I hurt you, real bad. Let's just talk. Come back to the hotel with me." He made another move forwards. _Hell no_. The pickup could stick it up his exhaust and die.

"We have absolutely nothing to talk about, and I will never be seen anywhere near a hotel with you," she gave ground again, eager to avoid the prickly crawling she felt by being even remotely close him. She didn't get as far as she liked, as she backed abruptly into something hard. It was Avalanche's blade, making him clearly much closer than she thought. He wasn't looking at her, however, and his engine idled at a low purr that carried enough menace to startle her. It wasn't just him either. Her visiting bundle of personal drama had attracted attention. Drip and Blackout's faces both carried uncharacteristically unfriendly scowls and Dynamite seemed a short fuse away from losing her composure. Maru was idly tapping a tool against the railing of the repair bay ramp, and Cabbie towered next to him, both with expressions that were thoroughly unamused (although, in Maru's case, perhaps dangerously amused was more accurate). Across the airstrip, Windlifter and Dipper just watched quietly.

It was starting to become overwhelming. Pinecone didn't want to air her dirty laundry like this. This had to be _over_. Like, five minutes ago.

"Get out. Forget you saw me, and leave."

"I ain't goin' without talkin' to you."

"Get _out_." She hoped dearly that he couldn't see her crumbling emotional state.

"No."

"CJ—"

"Aw, let the boy stay," Cabbie's voice came in a smooth drawl, but the tone was surprisingly dark. "He won't be around too much longer anyways. Chief should be back soon, and it's been a while since I've watched Blade eat someone alive."

"I don't remember anyone involving you, old man," the pickup sneered. This caused enough people to bristle that Pinecone thought someone was going to kill him, and even Windlifter, clear across the yard, turned to give CJ his full attention.

Maru chuckled, and shared a grin with Cabbie that was a shade shy of being carnivorous.

"Kid's belligerent, too. That's good. Blade likes it when they fight back." Not really, no, but it would make for a slagging spectacular show. Maru had no qualms about breaking out drinks in order to watch the parts fly.

"Come over here, and I'll show you a fight, ya little scooter." Pinecone heard Avalanche's engine quickly rumble up several gears, and she set her breaks. She didn't need any one of them going to jail on her behalf. This needed to be resolved as peacefully, and decisively as possible, and Pinecone would do it herself. Her past, her problems.

Fate decided to deal her a vastly different hand. Blade soon returned from scouting the park, and CJ's incredible inability to read a situation came to the fore in a splendidly disastrous fashion. His belligerence towards Blade made her wince; she couldn't imagine even daring uttering half of those words in the air boss' presence. Blade had countered with that icy blue stare so frigid it caused engines to seize and coolant to freeze in their lines, and Pinecone was glad Avalanche was still at her rear tires so no one could see her unconscious flinch.

Speaking of, she'd learned something new: Avalanche's Chill to Furious meter was dangerously uncalibrated. On a scale from one to ten, it stayed at one until about seven ticks, then jumped up four-seven-ten swift enough that one could entirely miss the point where it exploded. When CJ had tried to maneuver to push Pinecone out with him, he'd bumpered up against Avalanche's blade. Pinecone caught the almost imperceptible widening of Blade's eyes, and Maru's quiet forewarning hiss.

CJ had pushed some of his weight against the track loader, accompanied by a biting threat or eight. For a moment, Avalanche hadn't so much as twitched, and Pinecone almost thought that he would sit there and take it like a professional until she heard Dynamite's sharp, "Avalanche, _don't_!"

His engine roared, he pivoted to put the plane of his blade against the offending grill guard, and the fight was on. CJ was a big pickup, and he was used to hauling cargo back south. But Avalanche was more than double his weight, and even once CJ throttled his engine and threw his power into pushing his grill guard into the blade at his bumper, he didn't move an inch. Pinecone had watched the bulldozer's thick treads turn steadily, and even with all his brakes locked CJ was giving ground. Avalanche pushed him across the tarmac, and CJ's eyes widened when his back bumper hit a very large tree. This pinned him between a hard place and Avalanche, which Pinecone admitted was possibly even worse that taking Blade's scowl any day of the week; at least Blade wouldn't actually turn someone into scrap. Probably. CJ gunned his engine in an attempt to escape, which did little more than throw a cloud of dirt behind him. Avalanche's treads rotated a half-turn, with the pickup still pinned between his blade and the tree trunk. Pinecone could see where this was heading.

"Well, that escalated quick." Cabbie actually looked a bit worried. Maru did not.

"I'll start digging a hole out back to hide the body."

In the end, it took a sharp snap from Dynamite, Blade's frosty bark, _and_ the threat of a tow back to the jumper hangar from Windlifter to peel Avalanche from CJ's grill. The truck winced when he was released, and Blade gave him all of five seconds to recover before restating his desire for his prompt removal from the base. CJ snarled, revved his engine, and made another move towards Pinecone. Nope, none of that. She was finished with all of this.

"We are _done_, CJ. Forever. _I'm_ done. What you did to my family, to me, I can't begin to forgive you. I don't know how you managed to track me all the way out here, but you need to throw out your GPS and forget how you ever got to Piston Peak. You blew your shot at happiness—and my shot, too, slaggit—when you left me. Don't _even_," she snapped when he opened his mouth to protest, "try it. I will never go anywhere with you, ever." Those old, dead emotions were acting rather lively, now. There was one heck of a knot in her throat and her tongue felt thick, but like hell she'd be caught crying in public. Not any more, anyways. "Get out."

CJ looked like he was going to debate this, but a good look around, and a glance at his damaged grill guard made him think better of another argument. That, and his eyes lingered on the angry looking skid-steer brandishing a fragging _saw_. He gave an angry huff and spit on the ground, before turning and speeding back out to the tarmac and down the entry road, but not before sending a cloud of dirt in Pinecone's direction with his back tires. He couldn't hide the careful way he moved, even at speed; there was clearly some physical discomfort somewhere in his undercarriage. Blade gave an irritated snarl, before turning to give Pinecone an appraising once over. She put on the bravest face she could muster and rolled her eyes.

"Nice guy. I can't imagine why that didn't work out for you."

"I know, right?" She knew he could probably hear the huskiness in her voice, despite her most valiant efforts.

He gave her a slight smile before heading towards the main hangar. On his way he pinned Avalanche with a withering glare, motioning for him to follow. The track loader let out a pneumatic hiss that sounded like his entire system had depressurized, and with his temper simmered back down to much more reasonable level, he fell in line after Blade. Dynamite brought up the rear, looking no more pleased than the chief did, and Pinecone could only speculate as to the severity of the reaming the dozer was about to get.

The rest of the afternoon passed rather quietly, and even the usual nonsense that was dinner was rather subdued. Avalanche looked about as cowed and tame as she'd ever seen him. She squirmed under the watchful gazes of her teammates, and Pinecone had excused herself from the table just as soon as it was polite to do so. She didn't want to head back to the jumper hangar, the rest of the drop team would swamp the place in short order, so she'd headed out towards the edges of the base, overlooking the northeastern cliff at the edge of the tarmac. Nature had decided that this was a wonderful time for some precipitation, and so she found herself sitting alone out in the rain, trying hard to corral her thoughts.

After all this time, the bastard thought he could just roll back into her life and expect a welcome, expect her compliance. Her rage was mounting, and it brought the stinging eyes and blurring vision that she would pass off as _just_ rainwater if anyone asked.

It had taken forever for the pain to go away. All her family in attendance, with him an hour late, and she had been truly worried. After three hours, her mom had dared broach the unspeakable possibility that had sent her into a fit, and why wasn't her best friend here to help her? After five hours, she had known. Her father and brother and cousins had been up in arms, her mother and sisters had gently stewarded her through the next few weeks of a depression that she didn't think she'd ever get out of. It had taken some scraping and climbing and enough mental barriers to create a maximum-security prison, but she'd managed to regain some semblance of emotional normality. She'd then fled as far from home as a ticket would take her, and landed at Piston Peak with nothing but her determination and a copy of her job application. The rest of the story had been gravy, until the slag-sipper had the nerve to come and _frag it all up_.

Pinecone sighed quietly, well and truly emotionally exhausted. She blinked to clear the rain from her eyes again, except that there wasn't any. She could hear the rain striking metal, and she looked up to see the broad expanse of an aircraft wing. Even in the fading evening light, Pinecone could make out the red '51' painted on the silver metal. For an old man with a wingspan that eclipsed Windlifter and Blade's rotor spans together, he was rather stealthy. Or maybe she was just that distracted.

He wasn't looking at her, just gazing out across what could be seen of the valley. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, and had to shut it hard on the strangled cry that was _so close_ to embarrassing her utterly. If Cabbie noticed, he didn't show it. Her emotions bucked and flailed wildly. She wanted…something. She wanted to scream and cry and _really_ let CJ know how he'd crippled her, all the hurt and embarrassment she'd carried around for months afterwards. She wanted to be furious that anyone on base had to know about the inglorious end of that relationship. She wanted to be angry at Avalanche for sticking his face deep into her business, and also at herself for not having the lug nuts to do what he did and put CJ in his place so hard that he'd _never_ forget it. And she _somehow_ wanted Cabbie to either say something exactly to this effect, or to just read her mind so she wouldn't have to say any of it aloud.

All this churned around inside her and eventually spit forth a bubbling vat of emotions that Pinecone found impossible to contain. It took all her willpower to keep her sobs as quite as possible; Pinecone didn't think she could handle the reputation bawling her eyes out would get her. Eventually they subsided, leaving her feeling somewhat empty. And cold. She didn't think she had the energy to move, sitting there watching the rain flow in tiny rivers across the tarmac and listening to it beat hard against Cabbie's plating.

"Feel any better?" After a good half hour of silence, hearing his voice actually startled her. Pinecone took a moment to swallow, not fully confident in her throat's ability to form proper words.

"I'm not sure yet." She pretended her voice wasn't still thick, and blinked hard to clear her vision. "Ain't this where you tell me that keeping it bottled up inside ain't good for me?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't take my word for it. I'm an old hypocrite with this kind of stuff."

Pinecone sighed. Now that her head was clearing a bit, she was touched. Cabbie had a very large, dry hangar he could be in; there was no reason for him to join her private little misery huddle in the rain.

"I'm alright, you know. You can go inside."

"Hmph," was his only response, and not even a propeller so much as twitched to announce any intention of going anywhere.

Pinecone fidgeted with a front tire, rolling her tongue around in her mouth to make sure it worked.

"He used to be nice, you know." When Cabbie didn't say anything, she continued. "We used to have a lot of fun. He was a real romantic, all into flowers and long phone calls and indulging me in the sappiest movies we could find." The thickness in her throat was still there, but she the more she talked the easier it became to speak around. "We used to be inseparable, and I thought he was the best."

"I sure hope so. If he'd always been like this, I'd have asked Maru to give you a diagnostic."

Pinecone felt a smile begin to tug gently on her mouth.

"If there is one thing I don't trust Maru to fix, its romantic affairs."

"No one needs to know a thing about romantic affairs to know that boy of yours is full of it." Cabbie's broad propellers gave a slow, single turn in thought. "He must have been damn smooth to pull one over on you for so long."

"Yeah, lookin' back, I missed a bunch of warning signs. Love being blind, and all that." Cabbie just gave an unintelligible rumble.

Across the base, she could hear her teammates yelling over something or another. Could be another fight for the TV remote; those tended to get loud and brutal. Pinecone could not help a small smile; rowdy and crazy and sometimes _rude_ they may be, but after today she knew she had no greater backup anywhere. Even if Avalanche almost got himself incarcerated.

"He wouldn't… he wouldn't have really scrapped him, would he?"

Cabbie gave a soft snort, and Pinecone could see a slow smirk slide across his face.

"Naw. It's not in him. Kid erupts like a volcano, and he'd sure send someone for some serious bodywork, but even with his temper he'd stop sort of killing even that _fantastic_ fiancé of yours." He shot her a sideways glance, looking at her for the first time during this engagement. "Trust me, he doesn't have a bloodthirsty strut in his framework." Pinecone eyed the faded USAF paint on Cabbie's flank, and figured if anyone here knew well enough about the topic, the veteran would.

"Still, never seen him like that. Kinda worried me."

"Me too." Cabbie was smiling again, gazing back out over the valley. "You usually have to dig deep to get a real serious rise out of him, and it's been a while since I thought he might do something that stupid. You weren't around then, but when Spinner started eyeing our budget, there was a point where Blade thought we'd have to bolt Avalanche to the hangar floor to keep him from flipping Cad off a cliff." The mental image of the track loader bodily pitching a screaming, white SUV from a precipice should not have amused her so much.

Pinecone giggled.

"What finally chilled 'im out?" Her eyes widened after a moment. "Is that why he's so into orchestral music and that stuff with the wind chimes and nature sounds?"

Cabbie grinned hard enough to make it look painful. "Maybe, but I think he was into that before he got here. It just became more prevalent once he realized Blade is a stickler for professionalism, and that he needed to keep a lid on that fiery disposition of his."

There was more screaming from the main hangar; sure enough, the offending singular television controller seemed to be the culprit. She watched as Drip bolted from the hangar and took off across the yard with Blackout and Dynamite on his tail.

"Give that back, Drip!" Dynamite was screeching as she pursued him. "We're not watching any more cartoons!"

"Its not a cartoon! It's anime! Soooo much cooler!"

"If you make me miss this game, man, I will make you eat that claw of yours!"

Pinecone let out a combination of a sigh and a laugh. Only these guys could turn watching TV into a spectator sport. It was comforting, living in a place with lively people that caroused and joked and argued like the best of friends. She likened it to a mish mashed family-away-from-family. That thought soothed her acidic emotions more than she knew to be possible, and the result just left her tired. It felt a bit like a good tired, though. Like she could fall asleep right here, and be perfectly okay.

Next to her, Cabbie gave a soft chuff.

"Hmph, leave it to them to be loud for no good reason." He regarded Pinecone for a moment. "C'mon, kid. Let's get you out of the rain. You've been out here long enough."

"I'm alright, Cabbie. Little rain never killed anybody."

"No, but there's no reason for self-imposed brooding in the cold weather. You're too young for this, and the boss does enough dour scowling for all of us. That, and Maru will probably take it as a personal insult if you managed to rust anything while out here."

Pinecone grinned. That did sound rather awful, having to sit in the shop listening to the mechanic harp irritably as he roughly scoured rust from the various bits of her frame. She relented, and allowed the warplane to lead her back to the relative quiet of the Smokejumper hangar. He moved carefully around her, both to keep her under his broad wing and to avoid knocking her canopy with a one of his heavy propellers. His wingtip scraped the awning over the hangar door as Pinecone rolled it open. It was quiet inside; with Drip still leading Dynamite and Blackout on a wild chase through the mud and rain, that left just Avalanche in their hangar. He had his headphones on and his eyes closed, but he did crack one open as she entered. He gave her a small smile, and several other expressions flickered across his face that were at odds with his usual wild enthusiasm. She felt a conversation coming on, and she was surprised that this did not bother her. He looked like he needed one, and she now felt safe enough to have it. Thanks in no small part to an old plane with impeccable timing.

Pinecone turned back to the hangar door to see only Cabbie's swiftly disappearing tail. Leave it to him to depart without saying goodnight. Or waiting for her gratitude. Well, she refused to let at least one of those issues wait.

"Thank you, Cabbie!" she called after him.

He only dipped a wing in response.

* * *

AN:

Just because I needed to flex my genre muscles a little bit; hurt/comfort fics are hard for me, especially when they involve drama. This chapter looked reeeeeeally ugly for quite a while, and parts of it still feel forced to me. And poor Pinecone deserved to have some fluff; I lol'd so hard when she described how her fiancé just vanished into the ether, an then the implications made me sad.

Also, this is the third incarnation of this piece, and Avalanche still demanded to be allowed to knock Pinecone's ex about. I just gave him his own chapter, dammit. Clearly, I need more Avalanche.

This is unbeta'd and posted at 0330, so I'm sure it's got all kinds of things wrong with it. I'll fix 'em as soon as I catch 'em. Same old, same old.


	12. Chapter 12 - Blade

WARNING: This chapter contains a pair of OCs. If this offends your sensibilities, please move right along to Chapter 13.

* * *

Blade sneezed hard through all his vents as he made his way back to base, taking note of the sun hanging low over the hills; he had approximately fifteen minutes before he was officially in direct violation of his own standing orders. He was sore all over, having far exceeded his sixteen-hour flight time (again). Long as he didn't crash into a hill or somesuch, the TMST didn't need to know. His engines _itched_ on the inside, and he made a note to have Maru give them a check once he got back; it felt like they'd ingested enough dust and grit to make Anchor Lake a brand new beach.

This fire was well into its first week of life, and it showed no signs of slowing down. It had exploded into life from a campsite one evening, and once they'd failed to stop it before the hills it had taken off, chewing through the trees and cresting the ridge at the northeast border of the park. It was currently threatening several communities beyond Piston Peak's borders, and it had already consumed a couple dozen structures. Fortunately for Blade's small team, mutual aid had arrived fairly quickly (Patch was damned good at her job, but Blade had to hand this one to Pulaski; he had no idea what kind of contacts he had, but the engine had placed some calls and people had just about flown out of the woodwork to get here). Nearby jurisdictions aside, they got backup from all over; Blade was probably the most relieved to see a wing of air tankers from Cal Fire, which were the vanguard for several task forces of ground support. Even with such a forceful response, however, the fire had barely slowed. There was a mandatory evacuation order for the county containing the head of the fire, and it was a race to put lines around the rest of the blaze before it obliterated a town.

Blade gave a nod to the current air boss as he passed him. After a couple days of handling the scene as Incident Commander, he'd happily forked over the role to a burly, seasoned brush truck he'd had the privilege of working with before; it made his controlling tendencies easier to manage knowing the person at the helm would get things done right. This left him open for field work, and he'd been rotating shifts as air boss with a slightly frenetic but capable OV-10A Bronco, and a grizzled but jolly UH-1H Super Huey. He filled his 'off' days with being an active tanker, which kept him out in the fire near his team. The Smokejumpers had been out here for days, which freed up Cabbie to act as a supply shuttle for the logistics team.

Cabbie had remarked that it was like a vacation, carrying cargo that didn't squirm about or argue. Blade knew he was a touch concerned; not worried, the kids knew what they were doing, but days on a fire line with little sleep wasn't good for anyone. Maru had a running bet with Windlifter and Dipper as to how many sticks he'd be pulling out of each jumper when they got back.

As he slowly crested a hill, someone pinged his radio on an off-channel. His radar picked up two signatures, one a bit bigger than himself, and the other _way_ bigger than himself. He soon found himself being flanked by a sleek, dark blue Beechcraft King Air 200. She smiled at him and gave him a wink before accelerating past him. He smirked, and resisted the urge to duck out of the way of the massive aircraft she proceeded. He was soon swallowed by the shadow of an L-1011 Tristar, one of the huge plane's engines clearing Blade's rotor span by a mere couple dozen feet.

"Skyhigh-114, that was a dangerously close pass off my starboard side."

"Ranger-301, I was cleared for this pass by my guide plane. I'm sure she hailed you." He knew she hadn't.

"She did no such thing."

Up ahead, the Beechcraft waggled her wings.

"Don't you boys pull me into this." She accelerated, pointed her nose up and took a wide, swift bank around to vacate the space needed by the Lockheed coming up hard on her tail. "I told him that he should give you a call and come say 'hi', not send you an alert and rush you from your six."

"He's got radar, he knew I was comin'."

A snort, and then, "Blade, you're about to get slapped upside the face by a hot air current a couple hundred yards long."

Blade's eyes widened and he gained altitude as swiftly as he was able. It had been a while since he'd shared close space with anyone sporting a turbofan engine, never mind three of them. He could see the air shimmer just under his belly as the Lockheed's wash rippled beneath him. That would be a terrible end to his day, being sent careening into the ground by someone's swirly.

"Thank you, Orbit."

"Slipstream-67 copies. I accept payments in booze and chocolate."

"Aw, now why did you do that? You are such a spoilsport." The Lockheed sighed over the radio.

"No she isn't, she just doesn't want me to die."

"You're too good to die like that. I'd have to bodily crash into you to knock you out of the sky."

"I am going to take that as a compliment and ignore the underhanded attempt on my life." The only response he got was laughter as the L-1011 pulled up and around, taking a much more leisurely bank around a ridge than his guide plane.

Blade found his mood higher than it had been in a while. When he'd heard the two familiar call signs during fire attack, he'd kept an eye out for the rest of the day. They had been working the northern flank of the fire, where the Lockheed's mile long drop areas were used to stop the flames on the long, high ridges. Blade had been on the southeastern edge, where his mobility in the air made him ideal for the steep, rugged terrain. As one of only a few wide-bodied air tankers stationed in California, Thrust Skyhigh was kept busy every fire season, both with the CDF and well outside state lines. Orbit Slipstream was his guide plane, blessed with sharp eyes and guts to spare. A competent air boss in her own right, she preferred grunt work to officer positions, and she busted her tail hard as a lead for Thrust and other modified super large air tankers.

Orbit had circled back around, and pulled up again off Blade's port side. He couldn't suppress a grin; this friendship was more than twenty years old, and the jokes came easily. When they'd met, Blade had found Thrust's loud, over-the-top nature to be incredibly irritating, tolerable only when tempered by Orbit's even-keel personality, but it had grown on him swiftly when he'd discovered that shaking the huge jet liner was almost impossible. That, and 'too much friendliness' aside, the Lockheed was loyal to a fault, and Blade remembered one incident when smoke had both choked his engines and rendered him blind. The calm voice that talked him back out into the open sky had sounded entirely unlike what normally came out of the L-1011's mouth, but Blade had found he no longer minded when Thrust gave him rough bump with a wingtip and a wide grin. Blade still maintained that Thrust was meant to be built as an F-16, because wide-bodied jets were not meant to make rolls like that, but a mistake had been made somewhere down the line.

He'd seen them several times since, usually crossing paths over fire grounds, occasionally getting the opportunity to share a drink before heading their separate ways. When Blade had been promoted Piston Peak Air Attack Chief, he'd received a letter that was one part genuine congratulations (from Orbit) and one part genuine sarcastic encouragement (from Thrust). He still had it amid his files, and rereading it always brought forth a small smile and an eye roll.

Orbit's gaze shifted from Blade to the ground, and it wasn't long before the trees and hills were replaced with Thrust's white fuselage and impossibly broad wings. All his flaps were down, Blade could hear his engines work to keep him from both outpacing Blade and remaining above his stall speed. Despite the discomfort in his own engines (yup, pretty sure stuff was in there, because his turbines just felt plain _weird_) Blade pushed his cruising speed, giving both Orbit and Thrust greater ease of flight. The massive tanker grinned up at him.

"The brass over there got you workin' the line with the rest of us grunts, huh? That must have been one heck of a short straw."

"I signed up for it. I'm more of a 'covered in dirt' brand of Chief anyways. Best to give Incident Command to someone with that specialty." Blade would fully admit that managing his usual ten person crew was a lot different than managing a scene totaling hundreds of people. He figured that if he'd instead ended up in a municipal department, he'd have never decided to promote beyond Captain.

"And we thank you for gracing us with your illustrious presence." Orbit gave Thrust a 'tsk', which he countered with a smirk. She ignored it.

"Since _he's_ clearly not going to say it with normal words: how've you been? It's been a long time since we were in your neck of the woods."

"It has been a while, hasn't it? I've had a stable crew for the past several years, and it's probably one of the most cohesive teams I've ever lead." Blade gave Orbit a smirk. "I genuinely like all of them."

She gave a mock gasp.

"Blade admits he _likes_ people? Is the world about to end? Hath hell frozen over?"

"Money says they're automatons that he's given names to."

"Actually, a couple of them smack of _you_, Thrust. Just smaller, replace the wings with treads." He pretended to think. "Better looking, too."

"We can't all be graced with your actor's face." His eyes narrowed for a moment, looked at Blade, and his grin returned full force. "They smack of _me_, and you _like_ them? I'll take that as a compliment. C'mere, buddy!" Thrust began to rise rapidly, and Blade had to ascend again to avoid him. He decided to place himself on the other side of Orbit, which meant Thrust would have to push her out of the way to get to him. In the air, even Thrust wasn't that crazy.

"None of that, thanks. I think I still have damage from that last 'bro bump' you gave me." Too big. He was too big to be doing that.

"Aw, just gonna leave me hangin', huh? That's okay, I'll forgive you since you've already admitted that you love me."

"I'm pretty sure the word Blade used was 'like'—"

"He said 'love.' That's my story and I'm sticking to it." Thrust slowly alternated waving his ailerons, causing him to weave about lazily beneath Blade and Orbit. "Speaking of love," He gave Blade a pointed look, accompanied by a wolfish smirk that let Blade know he was not going to like this conversation topic, "how much of that do you have in your life?"

"Oh, not this again."

"Don't pretend like you aren't curious, Orbit."

"I'm not. It's none of my business." She pulled ahead of them a good distance, but Blade noted that she was still close enough to reconvene with them quickly if the gossip turned juicy.

"Seriously though," and if Blade had been blessed with the speed to match the TriStar, he'd be fleeing right now, "no one, still? Wallowing in the Single's Life?"

"Not sure if 'wallowing' would be the term I'd use, but sure. Let's go with that."

"At least tell me that your bachelor pad is a happenin' place," and Thrust accompanied this with a look that implied so many obscene things that Blade felt he'd need to wash his eyes just for seeing it. His mind supplied a 'kay, ew, no thanks' that sounded surprisingly like Dipper.

"About as happening as the cold, dark bottom of a lake."

The jet liner let out a loud groan of long-suffering frustration, and it amused Blade greatly.

"Stickshift, man, just ask someone out. _For once in your life_, live a little!" He had. That was a whole different life ago for Blade, but it had happened. Not that he'd ever tell.

Blade pinged Thrust on a private channel, shooting a quick glance at Orbit, now way out ahead of them. He wasn't above a friendly, underhanded jab, but he'd rather not spoil whatever surprise might be lurking in the future.

"I'll ask someone out as soon as you pop the question."

Thrust's engines made a startled chuffing sound, and he shot Blade a look that appeared both unamused and somewhat cornered.

"Man, do _not_ rush me on this." Big, bad Thrust could slalom radial G's through buildings in a metropolis (and incur the resulting TMST fine) without a flinch, but asking his longtime girlfriend to marry him sent him into a panic? Blade would pay big money for a picture of his face right now to slap on a poster and hang on his wall.

"I cannot rush what does not move."

"Jerk. It works for us."

"You've been dating for almost two decades." Not something that bothered Blade in the least, but bringing it up bothered Thrust, so he was obligated to poke at it. Friendly-like, of course.

"And you've been _not_ dating for almost three."

"Touché." Blade would let him have that, but he wasn't quite ready to give up the ghost. "That said, invite me to the wedding, and I'll bring a date."

Thrust gave Blade the most torn, frustrated look he'd seen on his face.

"That's a dirty move."

"If I want to win this argument, I have to appeal to your guttermind."

"You're a terrible friend who likes to watch me suffer."

" 'Hello, Pot. My name is Kettle. Have we met?' "

Ah, good times.

They should wrap this private conversation up, though, before Orbit started breezing through channels looking for them. She was already starting to ease off her throttle and let them catch her.

As they rounded the next hill, something caught Blade's eye. The bright floodlights of a ground crew were common, given the circumstances, but not all of them consisted of a UTV, telehandler, two track loaders and a skid-steer. Several of them were milling about in the woods, and Blade watched as a tree seemed to just disappear. This was followed by several loud whoops of enthusiasm. Yup, that was them, sure as he had eyes.

He could clearly see Dynamite's crisp '22' as he approached, and he sent her radio a quiet alert. Nothing that required a response; just to let her know he was there. He saw her turn to look as he passed, and smiled softly to himself when she opened the channel.

"G'night, boss."

"Good night, Dynamite. Isn't it time for you guys to rotate out, soon?"

"Yeah, relief is on their way in, but we aren't done here yet." She sounded tired, but her voice carried the notes common to all his ground crew when something had stoked their attention and rallied their energy.

"Do I even want to know?" He kinda did. He peeled off from Thrust, taking a single, slow loop above the fresh firebreak.

"Did you _see_ that crew from Colorado? They crested the hills around Keelhaul Gorge in twelve hours! From the _valley floor!_ I would call that ridiculous, but this is our turf, and we're gonna do them one better. We're gonna make the bluffs behind Rail Ridge before we come off the line tonight." Blade could hear more raucous shouts of fervor through Dynamite's radio. He'd chalk it up to the zeal of youth; they'd been out here for days straight, and were certainly more tired and achy than he was, and it hadn't slowed them down in the least.

"Psh, how about just putting out this entire flank of the fire? That'll really impress 'em."

"Now that's just stupid." Blade barked a laugh. Even Dynamite had her limits, it seemed.

"Long as you're all back in as few separate pieces as possible."

"Copy that."

Blade leveled out his yaw and set a direct course back to base. Dipper and Windlifter were back already, and Cabbie had been pulled from shuttle duty for the day. With the Smokejumpers confirmed to be intact and in high spirits, all of his own were accounted for. And at the end of the day, that was all he needed.

"They sound like fun kids."

Blade had almost forgotten about Thrust, currently just overhead.

"They are. They keep me feeling young. Or old. It really depends." Thrust just snorted a laugh.

Orbit pulled her throttle enough to match their pace.

"Thrust, if we're gonna have enough fuel to reach our host air strip for the night, we'd better get a move on." She sounded somewhat reluctant, which Blade understood fully, but their meetings had ended similarly many times before.

"Why do that? We've got an air base right here in the park." The Lockheed clearly had other plans, this time around. Blade felt that creeping sense of foreboding crawl over his plating.

"Our flight plan is already logged, Thrust. The tower is expecting us."

"I'll call 'em and change it, then."

"Wait, Thrust—!" But it was far too late to stop him; he throttled his engines, and left Blade and Orbit in the dust as he made a break for Piston Peak Air Base. That was the part that Blade liked best: the universe had seen fit to bless Thrust with _three_ Rolls-Royce turbofan engines. Not even in a steep dive with a tailwind on her best day could even Orbit catch him. Sarcasm, sarcasm.

Orbit sighed, and shot Blade a look.

"Well, looks like that's happening. I'm sure Incident Command will just love having him come barging through." She gave Blade a slightly worried look. "Is your runway long enough to handle him?"

"We'll find out. Either he'll act like the professional he is and adapt, or come in ballistic, overshoot the taxiway, and flatten scores of people."

"Fantastic." Orbit gave a long-suffering sigh. She was clearly a saint; Thrust was overwhelming when Blade saw him once a year. He couldn't imagine living with the guy.

"If it makes you feel any better, we used to have a DC-10 stationed with us who navigated our tarmac with no problems." Except for that one time where his wingtip clipped the old tower, but she didn't need to know about that.

"Then at least if he screws this up, it's on him. Can I have your tower channel? I might as well let them know were coming."

"I'm already on it." He queued his radio up for Patch. She'd want to know why she was staring down the intakes of a plane half again Cabbie's size.

Blade would be lying if he said he wasn't somewhat excited. He had a feeling that his old friends would mesh quite well with his new ones. They were all the same kinds of crazy. He fully anticipated having all his past dirt dug up and spread around for all to see, from both camps. He counted himself lucky. At least when life found a suitable time to embarrass him, it surrounded him with all the people who would eventually find out anyways. And sometimes he even laughed about it later.

He did, however, decide that he would make a serious endeavor to encourage Thrust and Orbit to go to bed before the Smokejumpers got back. If Thrust met even a single one of them before morning, it would be too soon.

Blade liked his sleep uninterrupted, thanks.

* * *

AN:

Because there is no way that Blade hasn't made boatloads of contacts in the many years he's been doing his job.

This chapter was both fun and made me cringe; adding OCs to fan fiction is something I try not to do, only because they can easily upset the balance created by canon characters. That, and it is really easy to start getting Mary Sue/Gary Stu-ish if one isn't careful with character development. Bleh. I promise, this will not be a frequently occuring thing. Please tell me if I was too heavy-handed in their implementation.

Thrust Skyhigh and Orbit Slipstream are the only bits I own in here. Blah, blah disclaimer blah.

Words!

Lockheed L-1011 (pronounced L ten eleven) TriStar: one of only a few civilian craft produced by Lockheed Martin. All models of this aircraft really do have three Rolls-Royce turbofan engines. They can go Mach .95 if they push their speeds, and after talking to someone who worked with the planes, can apparently perform barrel rolls. I was flabbergasted.

Incident Command: This is established frequently with large incidents involving either multiple companies or multiple agencies. It unifies the chain of command, and maintains the span of control for all officers.

CAL FIRE/CDF (California Department of Forestry): This is rather self explanatory. As a resident of the Golden State, I'm biased towards them on any given day. We have no idea where Piston Peak is, but since CAL FIRE frequently dispatches planes to wildfires all over the country, they can show up anywhere plants are burning.

There are typos here. I will find them eventually.

TL;DR: um, Planes, yay!


	13. Chapter 13 - Smokejumpers

Dynamite surveyed the fire line, taking stock of wind direction, their position on her GPS, and what she could see of their firebreak with her floodlights. It was dark, about three in the morning, and the fire had been fully contained for over an hour; at this point, they were snuffing what small flames and coals they could while waiting for the rest to burn itself out. The night hours had brought calmer winds, cooler temperatures, and higher humidity, and it had enabled them to get a grip much sooner than she had hoped; with luck, they could be back at base by the afternoon. Which was an uplifting thought; having been out here for a day already, she was ready for a break. And a bath. And a proper refuel, for the love of Chrysler; she was gonna take whatever she could get from Maru's stash as soon as she was able.

She tried not to pay attention to the clock. Just a few more hours, and their air support would return. They were accustomed to the lengthy stretches alone in the woods, and enjoyed it, else they wouldn't return year after year, but it was always a subconscious relief when they could hear the vibrating rumble of helicopter rotors and plane turboprops overhead, the louder the better.

Noise reminded Dynamite of her family. Just one child out of almost a dozen, she had grown up barely hearing her own voice unless she was yelling. She could actually hear herself _think_ at Piston Peak, and she loved it, but now that she spent so much of the year away, she found she missed the close-quarters liveliness a bit, too. Fortunately, she had teammates that willingly obliged her.

Her gaze shifted to the side. Well outside the line, in a meadow that had been designated their emergency zone in case things got dicey, Pinecone and Drip were out cold. On days like this, they took naps in shifts, typically two hours. That wasn't much, two hours sleep in a twenty-four hour day, but they had all gotten used to the constant headache that heralded sleep deprivation.

Pinecone had barely made it to the meadow before knocking out. Dynamite smirked; her newest had proved to be quite the windfall. Almost as big as Avalanche, and with that telescopic boom that gave her an absolutely incredible reach, she'd filled a niche that had made the rest of their lives much easier. High-up ladder fuels beware. Even better, the girl busted her aft with the rest of them like it was no big deal. Granted, it was her third year with them, and she'd earned her stripes and Smokejumper tattoo during her first stint, but she'd adjusted to the brutal hours and strut-breaking work easier than most others Dynamite had trained; even Blade had been impressed (and that was _damned_ hard). And she was _so nice_. Dynamite knew her own issues with her temper, and she would not touch on the simmering volcano that was Avalanche, so she wholeheartedly appreciated Pinecone's relative sanity. She was the Team Softie; even when they argued with each other, their emotional equalibrium resided firmly in Pinecone's chassis, and she could gently calm a fight like no one Dynamite had seen in her life. Usually. Their team could give any therapist a run for their money. Drip said that they were perfectly sane, they just had too much character for everyone else.

Speaking of, the track loader was out cold, snoring softy, in a somewhat uncomfortable-looking position as he leaned against Pinecone's side. That was right where he'd stopped, checking Pinecone worriedly when she'd passed out almost before her wheels stopped turning. Dynamite had heard his engine give a stuttering cough, cut out abruptly, and he'd keeled over right there. Fortunately, Pinecone outweighed him by well over a ton, and even supporting at least half his weight didn't wake her in the least. Drip had been known to twitch in his sleep (if not something more active; Blackout and Avalanche had a great deal of pictures they'd managed to take only by choking down their laughter and fighting back tears), but even he was far too exhausted to move anything, even that one tread that was not quite completely on the ground.

He'd arrived a couple years prior to Pinecone, and had received mixed reviews upon his introduction. Blackout and Avalanche had adopted him immediately, and Drip's two new big brothers had stewarded him around the base as roughly as big brothers do. This had led to several encounters with Maru about various dents, scratches and foreign objects of the vegetation variety, which Maru found humorous until it had become excessive. Drip had taken to sneaking quietly up to the repair bay, breaking the news to the mechanic as gently as possible, and trying very hard to look as inoffensive as he was able. Turns out, it was pretty darn effective; Drip had a soft little baby face that could look downright pitiful when he wanted, what with the lip-chewing and whatever clearly illegal thing he could do with his eyes. Maru had years of experience of handling people with stupid injuries, and Dynamite was sure that Drip had never been quite as effectual against the purple tug as he had been lead to believe; Maru rarely stayed mad at anyone for any real length of time, innocent baby face or not. That, and watching Drip waddle into the bay with what looked like an entire sapling sticking out of his tailpipe was _funny_. And karma. He stopped being stupid after that.

But the baby face had met its match abruptly when it encountered Blade's visage of razor-edged ice. Drip was friendly and outgoing, amazingly so, but it had taken a few tests before he'd learned Blade's boundaries of friendliness, namely 'if you're inside his rotor disc, you're too close.' Also, 'approach before he's had his coffee at your own risk.' Blade had scowled at him for a while after those rough initial greetings, but Drip was a fast learner and an avid team player, and the Chief had eventually softened to the idea of keeping him around, even if he waited until the last week of the season to offer Drip a permanent position.

Dynamite heard a sharp crack, and turned to see Avalanche doing what he did best, moving large amounts of heavy debris that would make anyone else bust a strut. The sound was him snapping a smoldering log in half, still glowing red in places (especially on the now-exposed inside). The smaller pieces where easier to maneuver, and Dynamite watched him heft chunks of burning wood deeper into the burn area. Sometimes she wondered if he was capable of feeling pain; he'd used his weight and his treads to crush the log, and just the idea of scraping her own undercarriage over hot coals made her cringe a bit. Not an endorsed tactic by any reasoning, but Avalanche had always been a 'results justifies the means' kind of guy.

This had caused some issues with Blade upon his arrival. Years before Drip, and even before Blackout, Dynamite remembered the chastising he'd receive from both the Chief and the then Smokejumper Captain. Fine technique was not usually Avalanche's thing, and it had taken a while for Blade to beat it through his thick carapace that he couldn't just brute force a fire into submission. Once Avalanche had his taste of his first burn over, he'd paid more attention. Let it never be said that he was too recalcitrant to be trainable.

Once his pride and stubbornness had been tamed, he picked up new ideas and tactics faster that she'd predicted. She supposed it was familiar territory for him; building construction required some ability to think on one's tires, and Avalanche had been doing that for years. His father owned a company, apparently, and both Avalanche and his older brother had worked the sites since they were sixteen. Had been exposed to the noise and dirt and crush of people since they were twelve. Maru joked that it was there that Avalanche forever lost his 'inside voice.'

Even skeptics had been won over by his work ethic; Avalanche had no problems with heavy, dirty work in less that ideal conditions for prolonged periods of time. Quite the contrary, he enjoyed it. When a fall rain had produced mudslides in the park, no one was more enthusiastic about helping than Avalanche. When evening had fallen and the entire rest of the team was ready to leave the sucking, sticky mud for a dry hangar, they'd almost had to drag Avalanche out with them; she remembered finding him so deep in silt that his treads chewed it out through his drive wheels as he moved, and it was caked almost to the lights on his canopy. Once they were back on base, he'd headed out towards the edges of the property instead of jostling for a turn at the power washer like everyone else. Dawn had revealed his hard work; the dirt hills around the base had been shored up and graded, reinforced here and there with logs. In some areas, impromptu but ultimately effective retaining walls had been erected to keep the mud off the tarmac. Patch had found Avalanche that morning, asleep outside and still muddy as hell. Blade had regarded him with that unreadable expression that could mean a wide variety of things, before retrieving him from the soggy field himself. That was as much a seal of approval as anything. Granted, the dozer's wake-up call had come in the form of a sharp rap on the canopy with one of Blade's rotors, but Avalanche had paid note to the sentiment well before he'd ever come to realize Blade had pretty much just slapped him awake. The ends justified the means.

All the shifts post his first had gone much more smoothly. Brashness aside, he was a nice guy, if a bit overwhelming. Loud and aggressive, sure, but there was never any malice in it, and he made a surprisingly good listener when one needed to vent. Once they'd added Blackout, Avalanche'd met his match; while smaller and lighter, Blackout was tough enough to handle Avalanche's rough brand of friendly affection, and dish it right back out. This made Blade roll his eyes, and caused more than one person to pepper a conversation with a 'Wondertwin powers, activate!' joke.

There was a sharp whistle from up the line, and Dynamite watched Blackout motion to a nearby tree and wait for Avalanche's reply. Watching these two work without saying any real words was always fun. The dozer sent back a nod and backed swiftly out of the way. The tree in question was almost fully engulfed, especially within the needles of the crown, and was leaning dangerously in a manner that might bring it down across the line. Blackout sliced a thick wedge out of the trunk and gave it a nudge, sending it falling back inwards towards the burn. Good eyes; Blackout had caught it even before she had, and even now was moving up the line looking for more like it as Avalanche took care of the log.

Out of all of them, Blackout had the most fire experience. Before his arrival in the park, he'd worked at a large inner city department at a double house. He'd been part of the wild land/urban interface strike team, and had loved brushfire calls more than any other. When Piston Peak's smokejumper roster had an opening, he'd lateraled over, and it had been a match made in heaven. His actual fire training with them had been minimal, and he was confident on his first jump. He was pretty confident with most things, really.

If Drip was too friendly and Avalanche was too brash, Blackout was too eager. He knew standard operation procedures and tactics, and could recite them back word for word, but he got tunnel vision something _fierce_ when he worked. If you told him to clear a stand of trees ten yards wide, he'd give you a space twenty yards wide before he realized he was done. His short-term memory was not always the best (he blamed that incident with the power-line post that he'd sworn was a tree), but he could recall things from the previous fire season that Dynamite could never remember. He had good sense, too; his scene size-up ability was spot on, and if he could keep his head together, he made a good officer. When they'd lost their former captain, Dynamite had been certain that Blackout would get the promotion, and he'd had her vote to back it up. Turns out, _he'd_ voted for _her_, along with the rest of them. When she'd asked him about it, he'd just smiled and shrugged, and told her the position was better suited for her than it was for him; he was more a details guy than a big picture guy anyways. Even so, her opinion stood; if anything ever happened to her—heaven forbid—she was confident that Blackout would pick up the reins and get the team to safety. She was sure Blade knew it too; Dynamite had dropped enough hints.

She felt someone nudge her flank, hard. She shook her mind clear of the fog she didn't know was in it, and looked to see Blackout staring her in the face.

"Hey, been calling your name for the last few minutes. You've been staring at that one spot for a while."

Had she? Cripes. And he'd noticed? Double cripes.

"Uhg, sorry. What's the issue?" Did it jump the line? Spot fires? High winds?

"No issue, just you." He regarded her for a moment, tinged with mild concern that made her feel both touched and irritated. "Take next break with Avalanche. Pinecone, Drip and I will handle the rest."

"Naw, I'm alright. You've been busting your aft in there for twenty hours. Drip and Pinecone have another fourty-five minutes, then you and 'Lanche can tap out." _She_ was the Captain of this team. If anyone was going to see this project clear through to the end, it would be _her_. It looked damned sorry when the one in charge took breaks before her crew had theirs.

"Then what's two more hours gonna do to me? We got this in the bag, which means you get to relax."

"I'm fine, Blackout. Really. Take next break." And she used that tone of voice she reserved for giving orders. He either didn't notice (unlikely), or had decided that he just didn't care at the moment (much more likely).

"You sure?"

Dynamite felt her temper flare a bit.

_Yes_.

_No_. No, she wasn't. Even just sitting here she'd had to blink to clear her vision far more than she would have liked. She'd been more tired than this before, they all had, but for some reason she couldn't quite power through it. Maybe it was this terrible forest, spinning dizzyingly around her. Which was bad. Forests didn't spin.

Her common sense kicked her ego to the corner and stared it down. The fire was contained, with no signs of spot fires. They had been two crewmembers short of full operation capacity for an hour and fifteen minutes, and it had still been smooth sailing. They had this. _Blackout_ had this. Which was good, 'cause she was slipping something ferocious right now. Nothing a short snooze wouldn't fix, though. Her exhaustion flopped all over what fight remained in her stubbornness, and she relented.

"Alright. But you will wake me back up if _anything_ happens."

That's all she would give him. And that's all he needed. He grinned at her, and made his way back up the firebreak. He shot Avalanche a triumphant smirk as he passed him, which the track loader returned. Big lug was in on it, huh? Dynamite groaned; she wondered how long they had sat there watching her lose her mind. She heaved a sigh, and pushed the mind-fog aside for a few minutes more. She'd get her relief in just a short while longer.

In the meantime, though, there was still a fire on this hill.

* * *

AN: Yay, Smokejumpers. I can't ever get too much. I'm sure you can tell Avalanche was starting to take over, again. It's never enough for him.


	14. Chapter 14 - Smokejumpers & Cabbie III

"It's Cabbie!"

"It's not Cabbie."

"Yes it is! Just look at the face!"

"You can hardly see his face, given the angle it was taken at."

"Never mind the picture is as old as he is."

"Still, there's no way that's _not _him."

"Not like he's the only C-119 ever built."

"I swear on my life."

"Then how would you like to die?"

"WHY DON'T WE JUST ASK 'IM?"

"Because then we have to admit that we were in his hangar again."

Avalanche snuffed a sigh, and took another languid sip of his mid-grade. This had been the current conversation-go-round for the last few minutes. Another prank had been in the works, with Cabbie's things once again the target (mainly because it garnered a reaction without the imminent threat of death…usually). Today's thief of the hour had been Drip; with Cabbie seeing Maru for a minor tune-up, the time was ripe for a little friendly klepto action. They hadn't really decided on what to take, so they left it up to his discretion. The normal rules applied: nothing irreplaceable or highly personal. Everything else was fair game. Like that one time Blackout had come out with the most recent newspaper. They'd scoffed at him, until it prompted Cabbie's day-long search for his second-favorite pass time. So simple, yet so epic. They'd coughed it up only when Cabbie had stalked poor Pinecone against a hangar wall and asked, in a chillingly calm but otherwise polite voice, if she possibly had _any_ clue where his paper might _possibly_ have gone. They'd rescued her only with the help of an elaborate "hey, look over there!" tactic. And Windlifter's assistance. They had thanked the big guy profusely.

When Drip had returned today with just one small square of paper, they'd wondered if he'd lost his mind. He'd been oddly ecstatic, too. Upon inspection, it had prompted the vigorous discussion that had carried on for the last half-hour.

It was an old photograph of a plane, a crisply painted double-tailed Fairchild in USAF livery. This one, however, bore a port side that bristled with artillery, a prow infrared scanner, and a pair of turbojet engine pods. An honest-to-Chrysler AC-119K Stinger. The glare in the picture, however, meant it was impossible to clearly make out both the plane's tail number or face. The argument had erupted from there. Drip swore up and down that it was Cabbie. Blackout was the opposite, and sat firmly on the idea that it wasn't. Dynamite and Pinecone fiddled in the middle ground, but leaned a bit towards Drip's point of view; the same reasons that Blackout said the image was far too indistinct to be Cabbie also meant it was too indistinct to _not_ be Cabbie. Avalanche himself reserved judgment. All the arguments were compelling, and it would be damned cool if the old guy had really been a gunship before his retirement. Even if it wasn't true, he was still impressed; old guy had spent years getting shot at and emerged not too worse for the wear.

"So… are we gonna ask?"

"Might as well. Blade'll notice something's up if we stay in this creepy huddle behind Dipper's hangar."

"Or, y'know, _Dipper_ will notice."

"Dipper doesn't put the fear in me, though."

"Point."

"So is this a 'yes' or a 'no'?"

"Yeah, let's go. I gotta know, and it's not like he isn't already aware that we josh him on a regular basis. Probably why he's been putting all his things up on some really high shelves lately."

"As long as Drip does it. I took the scowl last time."

The small procession made their way towards the repair bay, with Drip in the lead. Blackout was at his back bumper both to prevent him from bolting and to give himself a front row seat to what he was sure would be his impending victory. Drip however, picked up speed as they got closer, clearly now just as interested to fish out some answers as everyone else. Avalanche slowly brought up the rear. No matter which way it went, he had a gut feeling that they were gonna learn something cool.

Cabbie was out in front of the bay, in what seemed to a quiet, idle chat with Maru. The tug was up on the scissor lift, having removed the front most cover of Cabbie's left engine to reach the pistons. Cabbie was far too large to fit more than what was fore of his engines inside the bay; most of his repairs happened out on the taxiway. Maru seemed to like it, giving him an excuse to get out of the garage, even if it was still just a few short feet away.

Cabbie's eyes narrowed slightly at their approach. Avalanche smirked around the lip of his mid-grade; ancient he may be, but his danger!instincts were still well honed.

"Do I even want to know why you're all here?" Cabbie felt all sorts of unease as the small group huddled in front of him. Especially when Blackout gave Drip a firm push forwards. This could not mean good things.

"All together too?" Maru looked over long enough to give them a quick appraisal. "What'd ya break?"

"Nothing, actually," Dynamite replied. Maru looked almost suspicious. "Really! Nothing is broken."

"Except Drip's eyes."

"Except Blackout's brain!"

"HEY! I DON'T HEAR ANY QUESTIONS BEING ASKED UP IN THE FRONT!"

The kids had questions? If Cabbie wasn't nervous before, he was now. He knew the kind of out-of-pocket stuff these punks could think of. Blackout gave Drip another rough nudge, which rewarded him with a soft growl before the track loader held something out for Cabbie to see.

"Cabbie, is this you?"

Cabbie regarded the photograph in Drip's claw, and he bit down hard on a surprised cough. He'd unearthed that very item from deep in an old stack of things just recently.

"Where'd you get this?" Entirely rhetorical; if the jumpers had it, it meant they'd been rifling through his stuff again. It usually didn't make him half as angry as he let on. Deep down he enjoyed that the tight-knit group included him in whatever playful nonsense they concocted, even if it usually led to some sort of terrible headache. Looking at the fifty-year old picture, though, he wasn't too sure how he felt. It dragged up all sorts of old emotions, some good and others not so much.

"Your hangar." Drip fidgeted just slightly under the glower that followed. "I was going for the newspaper again, but you put it, like, _way_ up on the shelf where I couldn't reach it. I was gonna grab something else, but I saw this just lying under some other stuff, and I forgot to take anything for the actual prank."

Cabbie snorted. The scamps liked to kidnap his hobbies and past-times, but they'd never before run off with something that he found truly valuable. Not that he schlepped much of that sort of stuff out here for work; no real reason to remove it from his home. He did find it a bit amusing that what had promised to become a slightly aggravating afternoon spent searching for his own things had been entirely derailed by one old photo. He'd need to leave more stuff like that lying around to prevent the theft of far less cherished items. The irony.

"Soooooo… you?" Drip looked positively hopeful, like an affirmation would prove that Cabbie's secret identity was Superman. Blackout looked hopeful too, but also like he was suppressing a sneer.

"No, it's not me."

"Yuss!" Blackout crowed. Drip looked absolutely crushed. Pinecone looked a little disappointed, and Dynamite just shrugged. Avalanche didn't appear to have an opinion, but that can of mid-grade had been adhered to his mouth for the entirety of this engagement. Drip looked back down at the picture in his claw. Cabbie could never quite figure out how this kid's expressions could make him feel like he'd run over a kitten. What was he, twenty-something? Too old to be able to do that with his face.

"If it ain't you, who is he?" Pinecone fidgeted a bit; while not anywhere near as tight-lipped as Blade regarding his past, she knew Cabbie hadn't even scratched the surface of exhausting the stories of what he did before coming to Piston Peak.

"That's a friend of mine, from decades ago." He was going to leave it at that, but it appeared he had roused the interest of all five jumpers. Pinecone brushed Blackout aside to take a place right next to Drip, who promptly shut off his engine and settled into his treads. Now comfortable, he looked excitedly from the photograph, to Pinecone, to Cabbie. The punks were that curious, huh? He supposed it couldn't hurt.

"During and after the Korean War, all the USAF C-119s saw heavy use for paradrop and paratrooper deployment. They pulled most of us from front-line service in the sixties, during Vietnam. When they needed more heavy bombers—most were posted for work on Ho Chi Minh Trail—many of us volunteered for the re-outfitting process. It didn't take much convincing; we'd all already seen heavy combat, so the retraining would be minimal. Titled Project Gunship III, those that went in came out as AC-119G Shadows. The program worked so well, they even added a second model upgrade." Cabbie nodded to the photo in Drip's claw. "This guy here, old wing member of mine, was one of the second wave. Nice guy. Grade-A crazy. A damn good shot with those two Vulcans they gave him, too." Cabbie could not suppress a soft smile. Even when conditions were absolutely deplorable, his wing mate was always upbeat. He had no filter on his mouth, but he made people laugh. Cabbie credited his sanity upon retirement to the guy.

Blackout looked thoughtful.

"If it worked out so well, why not you? Or everybody, for that matter."

"The program, while successful, only remodeled so many of us. That, and the new, young AC-130 Ghostriders and Stinger IIs were raring to go, and they did a bang-up job. Smaller than us, but faster."

"I told you it wasn't him." Blackout smirked at Drip, who stuck his tongue out at him. He _was _twenty-something, right? Blackout bolted from the huddle, racing back towards the jumper hangar. "Taking that bottle of high-grade you've been hiding behind your loading dock as a reward!" he called back as he went.

"Hey, not fair! I'm still gonna drink that!" Drip pivoted around and made to follow.

"You kids wouldn't be referring to that lovely-looking bottle that I saw Blade taking to his office earlier this morning, would you?" Maru sat back from where he was examining the inside of Cabbie's engine to look down at them. It was now probably sitting on Blade's desk as a paperweight, in plain view, daring Drip to come get it back. Cabbie shared a knowing grin with the tug; none of them had the lug nuts to attempt a rescue from Blade. Maybe when the world was ending.

Drip stopped cold. Pinecone gave a small gasp. Dynamite rolled her eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. Avalanche was still idly watching Cabbie, continuing to sip enthusiastically on his beverage.

"Every damned time…" Blade had a nose for these kinds of things, and Dynamite knew it was only a matter of time before they would get another aft chewing for bringing high-grade on base. She gave Maru a stare. Whatever ninja skills or black magic he used to keep his stash safe, she wanted it.

"We are so scrapped." Drip knew it was coming, too. And Blade had taken it from his space, so he was destined to take the brunt of the Chief's ire. He began to make his own dash for the hangar; it was a terrible hiding place, but it would keep him out of the open until he discovered a better one. Dynamite and Pinecone shared a glance and followed him. The last time he'd hid from Blade, he'd done it so well that he'd gotten stuck; they'd actually had to forcefully extricate him.

Cabbie gave a snort. Blade was probably going to let them stew in their apprehension for a while before summoning them for their reprimand. They could take whatever precautions they wanted, that ball was rolling and there was no stopping it.

"I would hide that better next time!" he called after them. He heard Maru's dry cackle from somewhere under his wing.

And then there was one. Avalanche was still sitting on the tarmac, gaze glued to Cabbie's flank. Something there had caught his attention, and the veteran had a pretty damned good idea what it was.

"What are you staring at?"

The dozer looked from Cabbie's side to Cabbie's face, clearly mulling something over. The warplane could almost see him connecting some dots.

"NOTHING. JUST… NOTHING." 'Nothing' Cabbie's right tailfin. Even so, Avalanche gave a slow pivot before following lazily after his teammates. "HEY DRIP! YOU STILL GOT AHOLD OF CABBIE'S PHOTO?"

"Sometimes I wonder if he's not half as thick as he lets on." Maru watched him go as he tightened the last bolt onto Cabbie's engine cover. "Start that up for me, tell me how it feels."

"Kid's craftier than you know. Sometimes I think he's irritating just so that no one catches on to him." Cabbie waited a moment for Maru to lower the lift before putting power to his port engine. It purred as he added thrust. Smooth as butter, like always. He was pretty sure that Maru's diligent work was what kept him in shape enough to handle this job.

"Those are some pretty paternal words, right there. Are you sure you don't have some huge family squirreled away that we don't know about?" Maru gathered his tools, barely pausing as he shot Cabbie a smirk.

"Hmph. Why have kids when the powers that be have deemed it appropriate to inflict those five upon me?"

"Because you like them."

"Children in general, or these scamps?"

"Yes."

Cabbie chuckled as he cut power to his engine. Maru was not wrong, really. He'd only admit it aloud when he was on his deathbed, though.

"He's certainly got some sharp eyes. I hafta admit, I have wondered about those old, soldered panels on your port flank." Maru gave him a quick once over, right about the same spots Avalanche had been staring at.

"What panels would you be referring to?"

Cabbie knew. And from the look on Maru's face, so did he. A series of four panels, uniform in size and shape, scattered down the midline of his flank, just under his wing. Soldered shut and smoothed many, many decades ago, but Cabbie still occasionally could feel the ghosts of what had been there.

"So if I dug through that medical history file you gave me years ago, how likely am I to find a Change of Model form in there?" Once Cabbie's propellers came to a complete stop, Maru took the time to glance over each of them.

"Find _one_? Not very likely. But if you were looking for _two_…"

"New designation didn't stick, huh?" Maru grinned from around a broad propeller blade.

"They don't let you keep your munitions when you're decommissioned back to civilian work. And this is my original model. I like it."

"Didn't feel like telling them?"

"Naw." Cabbie gave Maru a soft smirk. "But when I finally kick the bucket, I authorize you to show them the paperwork."

"Will do."

* * *

AN:

Because Cabbie is super old, and he's still got enough juicy secrets to bury a small town. Having been a Shadow is just one of the many he sits on.

Fairchild AC-119G Shadow/AC-119K Stinger: Two models of heavy gunship developed during Vietnam. Since most of the new Lockheed AC-130 Spectres and Spookies were patrolling Ho Chi Minh Trail, they had an immediate need of more heavy air assault. The rugged, flexible C-119s fit the bill, and performed so well they built upon the original AC-119G Shadows. The Stingers had the additional underwing jet pots for more speed, and a pair of M61 Vulcan cannons in addition to the four miniguns.

Lockheed AC-130 Series (Spectres/Spookies/Ghostriders/Stinger IIs): A large, heavy gunship developed during the Vietnam War and still in use by the USAF today. These are big, four-engined turboprop craft that carry so many cannons it's almost ridiculous. Some are also equipped with missiles. For funsies, I guess, at that point.

Blah blah typos blah. Fix 'em when I find them blah.


End file.
